


Of Duties and Burdens

by Sovereign_Tea



Series: The Most Beautiful Weapon [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Engagement, M/M, Masturbation, McHanzo - Freeform, NSFW, Rimming, Shotgunning, Talon Hanzo Shimada, Torture, Violence, tags will be added to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 75,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sovereign_Tea/pseuds/Sovereign_Tea
Summary: The sequel to "From Hanamura With Love". Now engaged and with the events of Talon and Hanamura seemingly behind them, Hanzo and Jesse can focus on their wedding planning. That is, until events unfurl, tearing Overwatch nearly in half. The weapon is finally revealed, and while some in Overwatch will see it as their duty to stop it, others will see it as a burden.





	1. Prologue--In One Year

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies. And welcome to the second fic I promised! Somethings to note before you read:
> 
> 1.) This is the fic I've been planning on since the beginning, so HOPEFULLY it will happen a little fast than From Hanamura.  
> 2.) That being said, I just started another job and have been doing 50+ hours a week. So I'm high key tired all the time. So...don't actually look for consistently timed updates. This isn't Crown of Horns over here. (god bless that fic).  
> 3.) I've already given the fic the correct rating for futher chapters, but...the actual archive warnings won't be adjusted until I post the chapters that they concern. Tags will also be added to as the story progresses.  
> 4.) This is going to be one dark fic. I'm just warning you. If you're looking for constant happiness and sunshine, this is not the place my friend.  
> 5.)Any translations for random non-English words will be at the bottom of the chapter in the notes. If you happen to be a native speaker of the language being translated and see a mistake, or know a more accurate word than what the internet spits at me, please feel free to tell me!! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I look forward to writing for you all! You can always find me on https://sovereign-tea.tumblr.com/ :)

            “ ‘I love y’ more than—‘ “ Jesse stopped writing and scrunched up his nose, and then went about deleting what he had typed out on the projected screen tablet before him. ‘My love fer y’…’ God, why is this so hard?!” Cross legged on the sofa in the room he shared at the Gibraltar base with his fiancé, Hanzo, Jesse attempted to write out a draft of his vows. They had been planning for an autumn wedding for the following year. Now that it was early October, Jesse got absolutely beside himself with giddiness whenever he saw the calendar. One year. One year and he would be married to his best friend.

Wrapped up in an one of his red serapes and a pair of sweatpants, Jesse had made himself comfortable with his tablet and tried to get some wedding planning out of the way, especially the vows since Hanzo was still at the gym with Genji and wouldn’t overhear him brainstorming. Normally he would be there with him—the man was wonderful to train with—but he was due for deployment in the early morning on a mission to Dorado and didn’t want to be too tired or aching. The two usually went to train together and pushed the other to do better, even if it was just adding an extra pound to the weights, or doing ten more pushups. Honestly, McCree had probably never been in better shape as when he started going to the gym with Hanzo.

The afternoon sun felt delightful coming in through the window along with the crisp autumn air. If there was one time of year that both Hanzo and Jesse were always cheerful during, it was fall. Jesse was in his element with plaid and he could break out his serapes again after having them in the closet all summer, and Hanzo could enjoy a warm bed during those chilly nights and—not that he would admit it—but Reinhardt only made his famous “Super Special Nutty _Apfelkuchen_ Surprise”--which in truth was the best god damn thing Hanzo had ever tasted--in the fall when the apples were at their tastiest. Autumn held a certain romance to it too. Being able to snuggle up close on the sofa without sweating, being able to hold hands walking across the premises without boiling, fucking with reckless abandon without overheating…

It was both men’s favorite time of year, and why they were going about planning a wedding for the following October. But there was still so many unknowns. The guest list was rather straightforward—their comrades from Overwatch. Jesse had no family to speak of, and the only family Hanzo had left as far as he was concerned was Genji. They wanted an afternoon wedding so it could be held outdoors and not be too cold or too hot. But as far as everything else? Where was it going to be held? How would they do food? Where would the reception be? Would they do it more American style or Japanese? And then Jesse would have to look up how a Japanese wedding even worked. Was it really different? What kind of colors would their wedding be done in? Neither had particularly talked about many details—for they simply hadn’t had time. As far as Jesse knew, Hanzo hadn’t given their wedding much thought at all. Not that it was a bad thing or even unexpected; they were both busy men, and with them cohabiting, there wasn’t much rush. But day dreaming about kissing Hanzo in front of their entire work place, claiming him as his soulmate until the end…it made Jesse flush like a girl with a crush. He loved the man so much.

            “ ‘Hanzo, I—‘ “

Just then there was a pinging sound behind Jesse, signaling someone was punching into the keypad. With a hustle Jesse swiped his screen away, hiding the evidence of his vows, and brought up the newspaper for Dorado instead. In walked Hanzo, hair tied back messily, sweat beaded on his brow, sweats and tank top drenched in sweat.

Jesse turned his head and gave him a broad smile. “Welcome back sugar. Have fun with Genji?”

Hanzo popped out one of the ear buds that was in his ears. “What are you up to?” he asked curiously. The archer came up behind the sofa and leaned down, scanning the type on the screen—making Jesse feel relieved that he had clicked away from his vows. “Dorado…? Ah, that is where you are headed, no?”

            “Yea, figured it might be good t’ see what’s happenin’ there.” His eyes quickly pulled a couple key words out, “Looks like they’re havin’ trouble with data breaches.”

            “Hm. Troublesome considering Viskar has set up in the region.” While Hanzo talked he continued over to the wardrobe and pulled out a wine red tee shirt and black pants. “If any of their trade information got leaked…it could start an upheaval in the region. I can only fathom the economic impact.”

Jesse was watching him move. The smaller man was like walking grace--footsteps gentle, each one precise as he got what he needed before moving towards the shower. Years of having to stalk about in the shadows and on top of rooves made him quiet as a hunting fox.

            “Have you already packed?”

            “Yes _mother_ ,” Jesse teased.

Hanzo huffed. “I ask because you always managed to forget _something_.”

He could only smile as he considered the man. So powerful and proud, intelligent and beautiful. Through the open doorway Jesse could hear the water click on and the rush of water. A swipe across the glass screen of the tablet brought back his vows.

            “ ‘Darlin’ you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. Every day I count my blessin’s that you chose me.’” Jesse whispered quietly to himself.

            “Jesse?” came an echoed call from the bathroom, causing the cowboy pause. “Can you go under the sink and get me another shampoo? _Someone_ left an empty bottle in here.”

Jesse huffed a laugh to himself. He flicked off the tablet and headed into the bathroom. As he advanced towards the sink to grab the shampoo, he began disrobing. “No problem sugar cube, but...” Hanzo gave a small jolt when Jesse pulled back the shower curtain all the way so he could step into the water’s spray. “How ‘bout I join in too.”

The archer took a step forward into Jesse’s space. He was already soaking wet, his black hair clinging to his shoulders and neck. His smile was coy as fingers dipped down Jesse’s hairy chest. “I would not object to that.”

Jesse closed the distance with a kiss.

 _I love you_.

* * *

 

 

Hanzo hated goodbyes. Even if they were only meant to be apart for a short time, each parting from Jesse--no matter how temporary--felt like it would last forever. Even as they stood on the tarmac, watching those that worked in the hangar stock the transport, Hanzo’s fingers itched at his side. The cowboy stood before him, taking one last smoke before he would have to wait until Dorado, oblivious to the _need_ Hanzo had to reach out and fist that blue serape with his hands and drag him in for amorous kisses. Three weeks was going to be a long time for them to be away from one another—but they would manage, albeit grumpily. They weren’t teenagers, Hanzo had to keep reminding himself; they were adults who could act like a little time apart wouldn’t be the end of the world.

            “You packed sunscreen?”

Jesse rolled his eyes. A long exhale of smoke came before the answer. “Sure did. Though, I don’t think I’ll burn like y’ would,” he said with a grin. “An’ it’s not like we’re goin’ to t’ beach Hanners.”

Hanzo chuckle gently. “My apologies,” he said in a soft and tender tone. His eyes dipped down as his fingers came up to straighten the BAMF buckle that had become askew. “It is easy to worry about you. Can’t have you going missing for our wedding.” The words were bold, and he knew it.

The taller man let the surprise show on his face before masking it with a flirty smile. Hanzo didn’t often bring up their wedding other than a passing comment, usually due to something McCree said. “Aw, Han, that’s sweet of y’.”

            “Oh, I assure you, my intentions are entirely selfish,” he teased. He closed the little distance between them and slowly raised on his toes. Jesse pressed forward as well and found his arms looping around Hanzo’s waist, face coming down to ghost Hanzo’s lips. Hanzo’s eyes locked onto Jesse’s which were beginning to darken with interest. What the difference time makes. When they first started dating in secret, Hanzo refused to see Jesse off, refused to show any public displays of affection. And now…“I will look foolish in wedding pictures all by my lonesome. And it will be rather…tiresome to find a replacement,” the archer assured his fiancé.

A metal hand came up to cover Jesse’s heart. “Ouch darlin’! T’ think you could fathom to replace _me_ \---I’m wounded! Will my heart go on?”

Their lips finally met then. Chaste at first, not more than a peck. Then it slowly deepened, one mouth opening for the other, a tongue chasing in through the seam of the lip, hands tightening their hold on hips. The moments slid by as they got lost in the embrace, it was only a fuzzy and garbled announcement from overhead that the transport was ready that drew them away.

Hanzo’s fingers came up to soothe over Jesse’s ever so pouty bottom lip. “Stay safe. Come back to me.”

Jesse leaned down, and, while cupping the back of Hanzo’s head with his flesh hand, pressed their foreheads together. “Always Han.” He pulled away when another announcement pinged overhead. “When I come back…when I come back I’ll make sure t’ make up for all the lost time,” he said, suggestion dripping from his words.

Hanzo could only huff out a laugh. “Promises, promises.”

They both parted, neither eager to do so. Jesse gave a short wave before heading towards the transport where Lena was waiting. It was going to be an easy mission to Dorado—although _why_ they were there had been kept pretty close to the commander. Hanzo didn’t even hear Reinhardt come up behind him—he was too focused on the hatch closing the cowboy inside the transport.

            “Ah, cheer up _Drache_!” Rein boomed, clapping the smaller man on the shoulder. “He will be back before you know it!” The elderly man towered above Hanzo as he stood beside the archer. They were an unlikely pair, the older of the two always being loud and at the forefront of battles, while Hanzo stayed high on roof tops and silently out of sight. But their personalities balanced out and it made them a good team. “I was planning on doing some baking today,” the tank of a man mentioned slyly. “Care to join me?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Apfelkuchen=Apple Pie  
> **Drache=Dragon
> 
> Side note: I love the possibilities in a friendship between Reinhardt and Hanzo. Reinhardt probably enjoys the calm intellect in Hanzo and his desire to try new things. And Hanzo probably appreciates Reinhardt's stories he's collected over the years, as well as his wisdom and outgoing personality. That, and the mental image of the archer sitting on his shoulders during battle sniping people is hilarious.
> 
> Other side note: I hope at least some of you read the line "Promises, promises" like a certain Turian. Perhaps, dancing with his commander.


	2. Just a Thought

_The rattle of chains. A gasp of pain._

_“Again.” The voice was familiar, authoritative._

_A whack--metallic, hard, and solid as it echoed off the walls. Another pained gasp._

_“Again.” The irritation that was bubbling up in the voice made Hanzo wince from where he observed from the doorway._

_The room is dark, lit only by a weakly flickering candle on a metal table. The dim light casts shadows up the stone walls regardless and dances across the metal devices strewn across the table. The blood on the floor looks like black ink that spilled from a well. Inside the room is three people, one chained to the wall, one standing before the prisoner, and another standing off to the side—watching like a hawk. And of course Hanzo in the doorway, an onlooker to the horror about to unfold._

_“Again.”_

_For as cold as the basement room was, there’s a wet, almost humid feeling that clings to young Hanzo’s skin and grips his throat. His breath comes out in quick puffs as he grips the wrench tight in his hands. The grip is slick with blood and sweat; if not for the ridges at the end of the wrench, it would slip from his grasp with each strike._

_“Hit him again Hanzo. Make him talk.”_

_The man before young Hanzo gave a soft whimper. He’s trying hard not to break—his own gang would surely kill him if he uttered a word of their secrets—but with each crack of the wrench if grew more difficult. Purple and red bruises littered his body, testament to unwillingness to admit any information. Meanwhile, the small Hanzo, who couldn’t have been more than ten, was trembling as he held the wrench, the tool feeling heavy in his small blood soaked hands. He wasn’t used to this, not yet anyway. The young master still had a smooth face, long hair, and soft golden eyes. The Hanzo who observed from the doorway was older and wiser, colder and broken. He knew what was coming, and no matter how much his younger self struggled against it, the result would be the same._

_“He was going to kill your brother, Hanzo. Are you going to allow that?”_

_Anger bubbled up in the boy’s eyes. Right. This was the guy who had tried to assassinate his brother while they were out getting ramen. Luckily one of their body guards had been vigilant and had taken the bullet on Genji’s behalf. It was a close call. Too close. Even so, the next hit was halfhearted. And so was the next. Suddenly, as the young heir went to hit again, the wrench was yanked from his hands mid swing, making him stumble._

_“You are so pitiful,” his father growled. The boy could feel his presence at his back, a looming dark aura. The feeling made him pull his shoulders back and made him stand taller. A larger hand than his own came around from the side, grabbing his hand and thrusting the scratched up and well used wrench back into it. Obediently he curled his fingers around it. “Hard. Hit him hard or so help me, you’ll be strung up right beside him Hanzo.”_

_Golden eyes turned to the prisoner, whose own eyes were damn near swollen shut._

_Hanzo’s voice was soft and young when he murmured a watery, “I can’t father—“_

_The sigh was biting. Again the wrench was torn from the boy’s hands, thrown somewhere into the dark of the room with a loud and jarring clatter that made even older Hanzo flinch._

_“You are to grow and be my heir,” his father said, voice chilled and even toned. Disappointed, the boy’s older mind supplied. Young Hanzo didn’t dare turn, but he watched the man before him who’s eyes were following the Shimada clan’s leader as he moved around the room. “The head of the Shimada clan…and you can’t even raise a hand to the would-be murderer of your only brother. What will the elders say? They already can see your brother is a failure—not suitable to lead the clan when I am gone. What will they say about me when they find you are nearly as useless? What will they say of your mother who produce such useless heirs?”_

_His father returned to his side in no time at all. The boy again didn’t turn, too afraid of the presence by his side, chest too tight as it filled to overflowing with a dark dread. With a slow movement that made the captured man pale further, the head of the Shimada clan took his son’s hands and pressed the handle of a pistol into them._

_“Father please—“_

_“You will shoot him.”_

_“Father—“_

_The slap stung and brought tears welling up at the suddenness of it. Fingers were forcibly curled around the handle, forearms brought up to a shooting position. Guided like a doll. Even a couple feet back the boy could see the alarm and fear in the man’s eyes. He had probably been acting on orders from a superior. Maybe a newbie trying to earn his place in the clan._

_His father moved his finger around the trigger and forced him to take aim._

_“No--!”_

* * *

 

The bang of the gunshot startled Hanzo awake, his upper half flinging itself upright with a gasp. Sweat was beaded on his forehead and was dripping down his temples and bare chest as he struggled to catch his breath. Darkness and cold air surrounded him, making it hard to shake the feeling of the torture room.

A dream. It was just a dream.

 _A memory_.

It felt too real. The taste of the copper in the air, the fear in that man’s eyes, the heaviness of the gun in hand, he could still recall it all as he tried to reel himself into reality. His father’s voice was a dimming echo in his mind, but the man’s scream as the bullet tore into him still ping ponged around loudly. How long had it been since that night? Decades surely. So why did it still upset him so? He had many reoccurring nightmares of kills and hits he had participated in, many of the dreams turning into scenarios of what he could have done instead. But the results were always the same as the reality. The archer tried to will himself to settle, but his heart was racing and wouldn’t slow, no matter how much he tried to convince himself he was being foolish. He craned over his now drawn up knees.

                ‘ _Another nightmare darlin’?’_

Hanzo’s hand reached for the other side of the bed, groping desperately for its occupant. Only to find it empty. Hanzo gave a soft noise of despair in the back of his throat. McCree’s side of the bed had been as the cowboy left it over two weeks prior. His fiancé always knew how to draw Hanzo out of the headspace the nightmares created—always drew him in close, peppered him with kisses to his face and hair, soothing him with charming southern words and praise. The nightmares were frequent—not as often as they had been immediately following his attempted murder of Genji, but still more so than an average person. McCree always seemed to take being awoken by Hanzo’s erratic breathing and struggles in stride, never once gave a serious complaint. Not having the cowboy there when he woke was…

Hanzo pulled his knees to his chest as he started shaking.

                “Come home soon.”

 

* * *

 

Often the morning sun would give relief to Hanzo after torturous dreams. There was something about how the warms of the rays spilling in from the window and across his bed would always uplift his mood. But when Hanzo awoke from the light doze he achieved after his startle awake the night before, he found no such sunshine; the sun was hiding behind thick, dark rain clouds that were pouring buckets of rain across the landscape. The rain beating against his windows did little to quell the lingering anxiety from the night, nor did the empty spot to his side in the bed.

Jesse had been gone for far too long. The absence of his southern drawl in their room left a void that made the slightly older man all too aware of the loneliness. He had grown so used to the cigar smoke, the clinking of spurs as Jesse walked, and the good morning kisses always made him smile despite himself. It didn’t seem to matter that this had happened countless times, each time Jesse left it felt like the first. It hadn’t hurt so badly when they both lived separately on base, but when they moved in together after that near disastrous mission in Hanamura…

He needed a distraction.

Normally, even after a night filled with nightmares, Hanzo would continue about his morning the best he could. In an order than he loathed to mess with, he would pull himself from bed, shower, dress, go to the kitchen and make himself tea, and while the tea was brewing he would make himself (and often McCree) breakfast. By the time breakfast was ready to eat, the tea would be done, and he would be able to sit and enjoy the food. Food more times than not gave him some semblance of comfort and a pleasing nudge away from the anxiety. After breakfast he would do some meditation while his food settled, and then he would go about with either his chores for the afternoon or with training.

This morning however he needed something different, especially since Jesse was absent. Messages from his fiancé were far and few in between, but given he was in hostile territory on a mission, it was nothing that Hanzo could rightly gripe about. But he missed him, both emotionally and physically, and if he knew anything about his lover, he could assume Jesse missed him too. The cowboy was very physically affectionate and amorous, so their time away was probably making him…pent up.

Hanzo pulled himself out of bed and made a little effort to brush out his hair and slip into another change of clothes. From the closet he pulled a chest—about a three foot by three foot—made of dark wood, that he had to slide over to the bed. It was heavy and metal contraptions and gadgets inside all rattled metallically as it was slid unceremonious across the carpet. Next was his phone which he placed on a stand at his bed side. The archer kneeled on the bed facing his phone and reached out, taping the screen a few times. Once he saw an image of himself and the numbers in the corner beginning to roll, he gave a small shy smile at the phone and a short wave.

                “Good morning Jesse.”

* * *

 

After a gorgeously long and much needed shower, Hanzo finally emerged from his room. He had shrugged on pants, flip flops, and one of Jesse’s tees before heading down towards the kitchen. Given the hour only the late wakers would be in there—meaning close to nobody. Some quiet time with a cup of tea in hand was exactly what Hanzo was longing for.

Luckily their room wasn’t too far from the kitchen. It took and elevator ride down to the bottom floor of the complex and a walk across the lounging area to arrive at the fully stocked kitchen. There was the back kitchen area with all the stoves and ovens and such, and then there was the more cafeteria style portion where all the drink makers and some food dispensers were. The fruit bar still had some oranges left for the taking, although it looked like the plastic towers that one could get cereal from were almost baron. The room was large, the walls behind lined with food stuffs in an almost buffet style that helped managed the amount of people the base once held, and at the center of the room were long tables and benches for the team.

Over in the corner by the tea kettles and coffee pots was a large metal rack with boxes and tins filled with an assortment of tea bags and coffee beans—and a small purple box on a middle shelf was calling Hanzo’s name. Inside were rows of tea bags, the leaves all harvested from a famous farm located on the outskirts of Hanamura. Hanzo had been shopping in town when he had stumbled into a tea shop and had been delighted to find they had the obscure brand.

Or at least, there _should_ be tea bags in the box. When Hanzo groped around inside his hand came back empty. Of _course_ someone had been in his personal stash.

Just as he tossing out the empty box, he heard a snippet of a conversation being held behind him at the closest table.

                “The cowboy? Truly?” It was a male voice that Hanzo was unfamiliar with. Hanzo stilled his hands which had been going to pick another tea bag. This man was talking about his fiancé.

                “Yes! It was very cute!” Mei sat with her back to Hanzo, chatting up the man on the other side of the table. She was already in her lab clothes-in all honestly she probably had yet to go to sleep from the night before.

With a quick glance, Hanzo caught sight of the man. He wore a white lab coat signaling him as part of the science division—probably in a group that worked with Mei if their chumminess was anything to go off of. He had long brown hair that trailed down to his shoulder blades, a slender face and a slightly beak-ish nose that had a pair of thick rimmed glasses perched on them. Hanzo had seen the man roaming the halls before—probably for a couple months now if he remembered right—but he had never interacted with the man. “They came to breakfast one morning and Hanzo—“

The man had his elbows resting on the table as he leaned forwards with furrowed brows. “How long had he known the archer?” Hanzo felt like his ears were burning as he stood perfectly still, not willing to draw attention.

Mei paused. “For a while…a couple years I think? Why—“

                “I heard the cowboy—“

                “His name is _Jesse,_ ” Mei huffed. Hanzo could hear her starting to get irritated at being interrupted.

With a roll of his eyes the man continued. “Well then, this, _Jesse_ …He is one of the original members of Overwatch. I have seen his file when Winston had me helping him. Jesse McCree was part of the covert ops, Blackwatch over a decade ago. Under the direction of the terrorist Gabriel Reyes.”

The Chinese scientist shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “I…Yes, that’s true. But no one _knew_ Gabe was like that…He was a good man. He was _dedicated_.”

                “If he worked in Blackwatch…” the coworker continued, “then he knew Genji Shimada.”

Hanzo tensed. Genji. The official story was that Overwatch swooped in to aid Genji after Hanzo had nearly murdered him— _had_ murdered him if you asked Hanzo. But in reality, what seemed more likely was that they offered an exchange. ‘Help Overwatch and live, or don’t and be left to die.’ What choice did Genji truly have? Hanzo had read his brother’s file after he had been in Overwatch for a while, to see if there were any tid bits to fill in gaps in his brother’s narrative of their years apart. They had assigned Genji to Blackwatch, the secretive, deadly side of Overwatch that handled all the dark and deadly work that couldn’t be made it to the media. Apparently he had done exceptionally well.

Mei’s head tipped to the side. “Yes? I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

The man reached out, taking his mug—with a familiar purple tab hanging on a string outside of it Hanzo noted—and took a long sip. “I’m merely…shocked is all. If McCree was close to Genji, and he knew him in the beginning—during the beginning of his shift to cyborg that it—I’m surprised he would want to _marry_ Hanzo.” He took a sip of his tea and pointedly looked over the rim of his mug at Mei. “Just a thought.”

The comment alone shook Hanzo to his core. There was a slight ringing in his ears as the words sank deeper and deeper.

                “Why would he want to marry the man that tried to murder his best friend?” the man continued. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

To Mei’s credit, she attempted to defend Hanzo. She set her cup of milk down firmly. “I think that is well in the past,” she said. “Genji has forgive Hanzo, so Jesse—“

Her colleague leaned back. His fingers drummed against the mug. “I just find it strange is all. You decide to marry the murderer of your friend? The one that put him in that condition? Perhaps it’s because I don’t know either of them, but it just seems…unnatural.”

Hanzo didn’t wait to hear Mei’s retort—or if she even had one. The door slammed, making Mei nearly jump out of her seat. It was only when Hanzo was back in his room, forehead pressed to the door that he allowed himself to breathe in ragged, strained gasps. Unlike when he awoke that morning, he drew a sense of comfort from the steady beat of rain on the windows; after several minutes the archer found himself breathing in time with the sound of the drops hitting the window panes.

                “Idiot…” His fingers curled into his palm, enough to leave crescent marks from his nails. “I could have told him that…”

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took forever. My life has been a living hell recently. I got a new job the beginning of August. It's amazing, and I love it, but at one point I was doing 58 hours a week and felt like I was dead on my feet. And then on top of this busy time at work, my dog hasn't been doing well, and I've been an emotional wreck. I haven't slept good in over 3 weeks and my mind has been going to really dark places. 
> 
> But here is the next chapter! I hope you all like it. I enjoy reading all your comments, especially those of you saying you were waiting for the sequel to From Hanamura. I want you all to know it means the world to me, and I read each an every comment, even if I don't reply frequently. 
> 
> Hanzo's day from hell will be continued in the next chapter. Thank you all for reading!


	3. We'll Be Waiting

The rain persisted through the morning and into the afternoon with no end in sight. By the time Hanzo parked his motorcycle at his destination, his leather jacket was soaked and he could barely see out the visor of his helmet. The building was bright white brick, tucked between two darker colored establishments. Flowers bloomed in beds under lavender colored awnings out front—although the flowers looked like they were finally dying off due to the season.

With helmet tucked under his arm, Hanzo pushed open the door. A little bell jingled against the door bar as it opened, giving the archer that homey feel that the tea shop always did. Inside smelled heavenly of cinnamon baked goods and hot tea—and as always he took a deep breath as soon as the door shut behind him. Tables sat pressed along the wall, a chair on either side of each one, a vase of silk flowers at the center. Paints of flowers decorated the pastel pink walls along with little knickknacks of small animals.

An elderly female voice called from in the back, “I’ll be with you in a second!”

Hanzo gave a faint smile. “Take your time Ms. Miller, it is just me.” He wandered over to a table by the window. He shucked off his wet jacket and threw it over the chair next to him along.

          “Is that my favorite customer I hear?” she chirped. Out from the back storage area shuffled a small woman. She had long graying brown hair that trailed down the length of her slightly bent back, with bangs that formed a v-shape on her forehead, and big brown eyes. The woman was probably close to Reinhardt’s age and ran Tea Time Café with a handful of other employees. When she saw Hanzo nestled down in his favorite spot a smile lit up her wrinkled face. “It is! Good morning Hanzo!”

The Overwatch agent couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him, especially when the woman immediately went behind the counter, grabbed a simple white tea cup, and began making him a cup of his favorite flavor of tea. “I could do without the rain,” Hanzo commented. He wasn’t about to worry his elderly friend over anxieties. He had met her shortly after he joined Overwatch. She had been an agent back in the day, but she declined the Recall due to her age and health. There was something therapeutic in her nature that reminded Hanzo of Jesse—although probably a bit more calm and motherly than the cowboy.

          “I wouldn’t turn down a sunny morning,” she replied. “No husband today?” She was beginning to pour the tea into the cup with a steadiness that was a little surprising giving the trembling in her hands.

Hanzo watched her, feeling calmer already. The café was empty save for the two of them, so the archer was able to speak freely. “He got sent out on duty a couple weeks ago. He has yet to return. And he’s not my husband yet you know.”

“Pah. He acts like it.” Ms. Miller came around the counter with a tray with two cups of tea, a sugar bowl, a creamer pourer, and two small cinnamon rolls on napkins. She pulled up a seat opposite of him after placing the tray on the table. “Well, I hope he comes home soon. You both are always much cheerier when you’re together.”

Hanzo made a thoughtful noise as he accepted his tea cup from the lady. “I do not think anyone has ever described me as ‘cheery’.” Somber maybe. Not murderous maybe. But never cheery.

          “Cheery is the only word for it!” she said with a smile. “When one of you visits without the other, there is a kind of…gloominess about you. But when you come together…”

He tried to fight the smile that pulled at the corner of his lips. It was nice to know that Jesse seemed to miss him too when Hanzo was set on missions. Sugar joined creamer in the tea, and with a little spoon he stirred the two together. “How have you been holding up?” Last he had visited for tea, the elderly woman complained of a bad knee.

The woman gave a tired sigh. “Getting old is a bitch,” she commented at which Hanzo barked out an unexpected laugh. “I have surgery lined up for next week, they’re going to be replacing the ball of my knee with metal.” Her smile deepened. “Then those darn doctors want me off my feet for at least a month!”

          “A month?”

          “I should be happy that we have such good technology, or else I could be off my feet for longer.” She matched Hanzo’s portion of creamer and sugar in her own tea and began blowing on the hot liquid. “But I’ll have to leave my shop in someone else’s caring hands,” she lamented. “That will be hard. This shop is all I’ve known since the Disband.”

Hanzo hesitantly sipped the tea. Ah, far too hot still. He cradled the warm ceramic between his hands. “I am sure the café will be in capable hands in your absence.”

Ms. Miller waved him off. “I’m not worried about the café burning down or what have you. I’m worried about me! What am I going to do? I’ll be in bed being lazy all day!”

The old woman almost reminded Hanzo of his brother at times in how neither of them could sit still for long. “Think of it as a vacation. Catch up on reading. Surely there are some new novels out that would interest you.”

She hummed thoughtfully as she began sipping her tea. “That wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” After a long sip she set her cup back down on the table. “Did you need a refill of the Hanamura blend?”

          “Regretfully so,” he conceded. “Someone got their mitts into my stock…” He just hoped that she had more. The last he heard she hadn’t received a shipment from her Hanamura suppliers in some time.

          “I do still have a few boxes. Apparently there was some sort of gang trouble in Hanamura that prevented shipping to Gibraltar some time ago.” Her eyes had a knowing gleam to them when she looked across the table at him. “Ah, but you wouldn’t know anything about that would you my dear?”

The woman was neither blind nor stupid; Hanzo knew that she was aware of his Hanamura mission with Jesse. “Of course not. I would _never_ do such a thing as cause trouble.”

The cackle she gave rattled the cups and saucers on the table, and immediately brought a light smile to Hanzo’s face.

* * *

 

With a box of tea in hand, a goodbye and good wishes, Hanzo left the shop. The tea had been good, the company soothing, and the cinnamon bun? To die for. The bell chimed upon the door shutting behind him. The rain had let up slightly—making it no longer a downpour but rather a light, silent rain. It was late in the afternoon, too late for lunch, too early for dinner, so Hanzo’s plan was to return to base and do some meditation to put the rest of his anxiety at ease.

The archer secured the tea box in a metal box on the back of his motorcycle and was just about to slip on his helmet when he gave pause. There was a sensation running up his left arm like static electricity--a popping a cracking without the noise or light. Hanzo immediately paused and straightened up to full height. His eyes swept around the area. His dragon spirits were uneasy. A warning?

Since he was just going to buy tea, he hadn’t thought to bring Storm Bow, and honestly, it’s not like he could use it in town without drawing too much attention. Instead he had a mechanism strapped to his wrist under his jacket—a blade that would slide out if flicked the right away. The only place he couldn’t see all to well—and where he could almost assure the dragons were warning him to steer clear from—was a nearby narrow side road that trucks used to deliver to Tea Time Café and the two neighboring stores.

Against his better judgement—and that of his dragon spirits—Hanzo placed his helmet on the seat of his bike and slowly advanced towards the alleyway that was stuffed full with a delivery truck. It was wide enough for the tractor trailer to get its container down, but the cab of the truck would not fit and thus stuck out of the alleyway. It wasn’t overly long or well lit, but it led into a small square area that served as the loading dock for the three builds—a courtyard of sorts where they all met up. Hanzo kept close to the wall of the tea shop as he maneuvered down, careful to avoid making any splashing noises in the puddles that may alert anyone he’s there. It was a tight fit between the side of the truck and the brick façade of the building on his left, but he shouldered through, eyes dipping occasionally down under the truck as well as above him.

His dragons sent another surge of static down his arm—another warning, this time dire—just as he was coming into the open courtyard space behind the truck. Instinctively he ducked down, just in time to see a fist flying where his head once was, only to collide with the corner of the café. Chips of white brick were crumbling to the ground as Hanzo rolled forward into the open space and tried stumbling to his feet. Debris poked into his hands as he scrambled to get up, but with a large figure bearing down on him, the glass and brick pieces cutting into his palms were the least of his worries. His dragons were sending shock after shock down his arm, frantically trying to warn him of the danger before him.

Whoever this was had succeeded in sending his dragons damn near into a panic.

          “My, you are a quick one.”

The voice that accompanied the large body was dark and had a deep roll to it that Hanzo had only encountered once before when he was a boy—and hadn’t heard it since. Hanzo’s feet splashed through a puddle as he reeled back to avoid another punch, this one aimed at his chest. The man before him had incredible reach, which wasn’t surprising once Hanzo saw just how tall he was; he was taller than Hanzo by a foot or more, and he was probably taller than Jesse as well by a couple inches.

Hanzo had little time to gather details as the man dove at him to close the distance. The archer flicked his wrist, engaging the blade up his sleeve to come down. He did not need a bow in order to fight. His right forearm came up to block the next punch.

A mistake.

He heard the crack before he felt it. He let out a cry of pain and stumbled back as his arm throbbed hard and fell to his side—in too much pain to move, no doubt broken from the blow.

The man advanced again, and with his left hand Hanzo swiped across, the edge of the blade just barely reaching to nick his attacker’s chin. Blood immediately welled to the top of the wound and dribbled down his neck in dark red rivulets.

          “Tsk--!” Agitation showed in the man’s eyes for a second before suddenly the distance between Hanzo and his attacker disappeared. Hanzo found himself knocked to the wet ground with a metal boot jamming down onto his chest, knocking the air clean out of him.

That was the first time he was able to examine his attacker. His skin was the color of Jesse’s hair, and unlike the cowboy, there was not a single hair on the man’s head or down his exposed and chiseled chest. His eyes were a light brown and intimidating as the rest of his stature. White shorts with a red belt covered his bottom half to where his heavy metal boots started. But perhaps most predominant on the man was the large gauntlet that adorn his right hand. It ran from his shoulder down to create a fist down at his knee, with two white spikes up on the shoulder plate while the rest of the mechanism appeared gold or black metal.

Horror crept through Hanzo as he realized two things at once. The man had attacked him with his left hand; if he had punched him with the gauntlet on his right and had connected, there was a high chance Hanzo would have died without armor on. And second…

He knew him.

          “Akande?”

          “Ah, so you do remember me,” he said with a voice deep as thunder and smooth as silk.

Hanzo had known the man long before either of them became embroiled in the battles of Overwatch or Talon—whom he knew Akande worked for under the alias Doomfist. Akande Ogundimu came from a family who ran a prosthetics company based in Nigeria, and due to the dangerous nature of being in yakuza, the Shimada were always looking for top notch prosthetics where the people who made them wouldn’t go asking too many questions. Hanzo had met Akande before he was Doomfist when Hanzo was but a boy and Akande was a teen. The young dragon had marveled how the older boy radiated strength and fierceness without uttering a word. He was inspiring in his mock spars with Shimada goons, and enthralling in how he spoke like a scholar. The two had only short time together during that long visit, but it had left Hanzo in awe of how worldly the other was, and frankly, Hanzo had wanted to be like him for a long time. And likewise, Akande had been charmed by how much charisma was in the young boy, and he saw nothing but potential.

Hanzo’s non broken arm came up to struggle against the boot bearing down on him. “What are you—“

Doomfist reached down with his flesh hand, grabbing a fist full of Hanzo’s shirt while removing his boot from his chest, and yanked him up. Hanzo winced as his arm was jostled but attempted to lash out again with his blade. Doomfist gave a sigh and without looking blocked the blow with his gauntlet. The blade snapped in half from where it was connected to the apparatus up Hanzo’s sleeve, and Hanzo’s only weapon clattered to the ground.

Just as Hanzo was beginning to formulate a plan, Doomfist gave him a shake. “I see that glimmer in your eye,” he said firmly. “You are considering fighting back. Do not.”

Hanzo gave a growl as he started struggling.

          “ _Stop_.” The voice was firm and sent a vibration down Hanzo’s body. Hanzo’s dragons were still sparking in distress. “I am not going to kill you.” That much had been evident when Hanzo had realized Doomfist had yet to attack with his gauntlet, only block Hanzo’s blade.

          “Then what?” Hanzo hissed angrily. “You lure me back here to—“

          “To speak to a likeminded individual,” Doomfist declared evenly.

That was enough to make Hanzo pause and regard him oddly. His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Come again?”

Doomfist slowly lowered Hanzo to feet, but his eyes were fully alert, giving the archer the distinct impression that if he moved the wrong way he would be indeed punched. “We have been watching you… _I_ have been observing you.”

A jolt of alarm went through Hanzo. “How—“

The taller man disregarded his inquiry. “You have been under surveillance. We have noted that you are extremely talented Hanzo.” Even as it looked like Hanzo was about to cut in with a retort, Doomfist kept going. “Your skills on the battlefield are far superior than most, and in comparison to those you consider your comrades, they are practically chimps.” A quirk came to his mouth. “Excuse me. I do not mean to be inconsiderate to the _actual_ gorilla.”

          “Surely you did not engage me merely to attempt to rile me.”

          “That was not my intention,” Akande assured.

Hanzo was leery. His dragons had yet to calm, and to be told that he had been observe gave him the creeping feeling of being a lion in a zoo cage. “Then what _are_ your intentions?” The Overwatch agent could feel his patience dwindling as his broken arm continued to throb painfully.

Doomfist’s eyes waltzed up and down the much smaller man making Hanzo’s skin crawl. Sure, he had known the man once long ago, but that was before he had become an expert fighter and before he became a mercenary. He still had an eloquence when he spoke, and his presence still demanded respect, but at the same time he was immensely different.

          “I want you to join us.”

And in that moment, Hanzo’s only response was an unintelligent, “Huh?”

The reply got a snort to come from the Talon agent. “I want you to join me. Leave Overwatch. Join Talon.”

Hanzo took a hesitant step back. His dragon spirits were stirring restlessly, warning him of the evident danger of the predator like man before him. “You obviously have not been observing me well enough if you think I would betray—“

          “Your _friends_?” Akande cut in with a snort. “Please. You trust them no more than they trust you.” The comment made Hanzo stiffen. “You keep them at arm’s length, and they circle you like vultures, waiting for the day you mess up so they can say they knew you couldn’t be trusted.” A cruel gleam came into Doomfist’s eyes. “You’re the one that murdered your brother. If your own brother couldn’t trust you, how can they?”

Anger surged up immediately in Hanzo. “You know _nothing_ of what happened—“

          “Do not delude yourself. It is known that Hanzo Shimada murdered his younger brother Genji. It is _known_ ,” Akande sneered. “And it did not take _weeks_ to learn that nobody trusts you. Every mission you go on with a team, you are constantly being left alone with no cover, with no medic nearby. If you were jumped by one of my agents, nobody would come to your aid.”

Hanzo didn’t know what to say. How could he deny what this man was saying after what Hanzo heard for himself that very morning? His gut twisted and his heart leapt into his throat. The anxiety he thought he quelled earlier was back in full force.

          “Talon cares not about your past, or any one’s for that matter,” Akande continued. He was still a looming presence in front of Hanzo, but he seemed somehow less threatening than before—almost welcoming. “Your talent speaks for itself.” Doomfist reached down and tipped Hanzo’s chin up, forcing the smaller man to look into his eyes. “You will be starting over—cutting all ties to the stigma of being a kin killer. Nobody will have to know about your past. It would be a rebirth.”

Rebirth. Beginning anew. The idea was incredibly alluring. How long had he been forced to wear the sigil of brother killer? Hanzo was no fool, he knew what Akande was saying was true: how could someone trust a known killer? He had noticed the distance people gave him during missions, and it never ceased to make him feel incredibly lonely.

          “No. The team may not trust me, but their opinions matter not,” he growled. There was only one man who—

But before he could explain, Doomfist gave him an unexpected sympathetic smile. “You think the cowboy understands you, right? One killer to another? You know he doesn’t trust you either right?” 

          “ _No!_ You’re ly—“

          “He was best friends with Genji during his days in Blackwatch,” Akande pressed. That much would be known to someone who did some digging. “He saw Genji when he arrived in the Overwatch medical labs, barely alive, more corpse than man. He would have seen the process of assembling his mechanical organs and limbs.” As Akande spoke, Hanzo got paler and paler as the images appeared in his mind. “What do you think the first thing he learned about his new teammate was? That his _brother_ did that to him.”

Hanzo’s unbroken arm crossed his chest defensively. The panic was starting to bubble up. Just the thought that Jesse…

          “Lies. He would not propose if he…if he didn’t trust me.” Hanzo said it more for himself than Akande.

          “Or perhaps he wants to keep the monster on a short leash—“

The comment set Hanzo off. He lunged forward with his good arm—what he planned to do he hadn’t _quite_ figured out. But it took no time for Akande to shove Hanzo to the ground again.

          “You do not have to provide me with an answer this very moment. Just…keep it in mind.” Akande said, his voice even. “Keep it in mind when your… _lover_ comes home. Perhaps then you will see that he does not trust you nearly as much as you think.” The Talon agent stepped back away from Hanzo who remained sitting on the ground. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

Hanzo didn’t know where the man went, or how he exited the courtyard; he had zoned out, replaying situations in his mind about all his interactions with Jesse. Maybe it didn’t bother him too much that the team was hesitant of him, but the thought his soon-to-be husband didn’t trust him…that hurt. He didn’t know how long he sat there pondering in the rain, but by the time he came to, Akande was gone and Hanzo was soaking wet and shivering.

The dragons had finally quieted now that Doomfist and his gauntlet were gone, and now that his left arm felt back to normal, Hanzo became acutely aware of how broke his other arm felt. He began cursing to himself as he stumbled to his feet and back out of the alley and towards his motorcycle. Getting his helmet on was a trick and half, and Hanzo could only fathom how he was going to ride back. Once on base he would have to go seek out Angela, who would no doubt ask questions.

It was a quick decision as he struggled to handle turning on his motorcycle that he would not mention his encounter with Doomfist; if they didn’t trust him before they certainly wouldn’t after saying he had a meeting with the enemy who was trying to recruit him. And that idea was only amplified as he struggled to steer his motorcycle back to base. Upon arriving he had Athena hail Angela who met him outside the infirmary. Of course there were a million questions thrown his way about how his arm got broke, and of course Hanzo gave a completely plausible story about falling off his bike trying to avoid a stopped car. Angela seemed to buy it and patched him up the best she could. His arm was in white cast from his fingers to his elbow, with a blue sling keeping it close to his body.

As Hanzo sat in his room later than evening, he replayed his encounter with Doomfist over and over again. If he had felt alone when he awoke that morning, he felt positively beaten down as he curled up on Jesse’s side of the bed. His scent was so faded it was barely there, and it felt of little comfort to him. He wanted his fiancé to be home. It was never this bad before.

_We’ll be waiting for you._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting to write this for a year now, although originally it was going to be Reaper instead of Doomfist. It feels good to finally get it out of my head and on...paper? Also, this is not meant to tease Doomzo, just in case anyone was wondering. I just love how Doomfist was portrayed in the cinema-short; he seems very intelligent and tactical as well as lethal, and for me, that is very similar to Hanzo. I can't wait to explore their relationship more.


	4. A Tale of Two Messages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, a NSFW chapter

                “God dammit I hate this place,” McCree snarled as he got back to his room at the Dorado hideout.

He had been on stake out for over ten hours, watching the Vishkar office building, gun at the ready, looking for any sign of trouble. And nothing had happened. It was like this every single day for the past couple weeks. Now, the cowboy loved his job, and it wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to in Blackwatch back in the day, but why did they have to watch the company? Why wouldn’t they reply on Helix to do their damn job? At least they were shipping out for home in the morning.

The time he had been away from Hanzo or even heard from him was beginning to take its toll. Had Hanzo been deployed elsewhere in the world? Was he alright? Worry gnawed at him. They weren’t allowed to take personal phones on the field with them because they were too big of a distraction, which means he hadn’t checked his since the night before. He missed Hanzo’s voice, his scent, the calming hands that traced down his arms—even his metal one.

Jesse kicked the door to his room closed behind him. His small team had been bouncing around to various hotels and motels since they arrived in Dorado in order to make it harder to track them. This time they were in a motel about five minutes from the Vishkar building. The place wasn’t fancy by any means, but it was in a section of the city that wasn’t completely shady, and that was enough to be thankful for in Jesse’s opinion. Jesse had a small room all to himself complete with its own small bathroom, a TV, mini fridge, and a bed. Some of the newer recruits that had been sent along with him had complained of their accommodations, and it almost sent Jesse into a shouting match with one of the younger Overwatch agents. There had been times during Blackwatch his accommodations had been a ratty blanket and a space between two rocks! Having a roof over his head was a vast improvement—especially since the mission, which was supposed to only be two weeks, was now ending week three.

The cowboy began stripping off his stakeout gear, armor and all, and placed Peacekeeper beside his pillow. A quick shower to take off all the grim from sitting outside all day in the baking sun and Jesse was feeling much better and almost human. After drying off he shrugged on a t-shirt and sweat pants so he could lounge on his bed and watch the Food Network. As he flicked on the TV, he finally was able to take out his phone and turn it on. Notifications erupted across his screen. General updates on the status of Gibraltar HQ by Athena, science news from around the world by Winston, 99% accurate weather forecast for the week by Mei, reminders of upcoming shot requirements from Angela…All work stuff for the most part.

And then he saw it. Between Angela’s reminder and a cat meme thread from Genji, a message from “Hanny Bee”. A smile immediately came to Jesse’s face as he eagerly clicked the message.

A little mechanical voice chirped at him as a warning appeared on the message. ‘ _Do you accept this video message? If yes is clicked, you may choose to activate projected scream mode by—‘_

A video message? Hanzo _never_ sent those. Jesse accepted the video and pressed the button on the screen to project the video. He set his flat screen tablet-like phone on the bed so the projection would come up. After a moment, there was a beep and a full color hologram appeared. Jesse’s eyes went wide. It was his fiancé, sitting on his knees on their bed. He was moving back away, appearing to have just turned his phone onto record. And if Jesse wasn’t mistaken, the red and black plaid fabric stretched across his torso belonged to Jesse…and so did those jeans. Jesse’s mouth immediately felt dry.

                _“Good morning Jesse.”_

God, he had sent this in the morning? The message had been sitting in his inbox patiently all day…His fiancé looked shy, yet tired. He probably wasn’t sleeping well. Jesse was flooded by the desire to hold him, to press him close, to tell him he was there.

                _“I do not know what time you shall be seeing this…but…”_ Hanzo shifted on the bed almost nervously. _“I miss you._ ”

The words shocked Jesse a little. Hanzo was not someone who showed affection easy. It had taken Jesse so long to get Hanzo to open up to him, and often he showed his affection in his actions rather than in words. Jesse was the opposite; it would be a cold day in hell before he stopped sprinkling pet names into his conversations with Hanzo. Hanzo probably wasn’t told Jesse would be home within twenty four hours.

                _“I want you to come home soon. Waking up without you there is getting harder and harder…”_

Jesse’s heart clenched. He felt the same! The motel beds weren’t comfortable to begin with, and without Hanzo it felt too big and too cold.

Then there was a shift in the gleam of Hanzo’s gaze. It turned into something sexy…sultry. And it grabbed Jesse’s attention immediately. _“I miss waking up with you beside me. You are warm…and soft in all the right places…”_ The archer reached up the popped the top two buttons of the shirt he was wearing, revealing the dip of his collarbone. “ _I miss having your hands on me…and hearing that deep grumble that is in your voice when you first wake.”_

Jesse shifted on the bed in front of the projection. It looked like a Hanzo was right there in front of him, starting to get seductive with him. One button followed another, down the length of Hanzo’s torso. Jesse’s brown eyes watched hungrily as each button slid through the slit in the fabric, allowing _his_ shirt to get looser and looser until finally it hung open in the front. With the shirt open, Jesse could see Hanzo’s sculpted abs and perfectly soft looking pecs, and, if he focused hard enough when he reached out, he could almost feel the softness in the swell of Hanzo’s chest and smell the splash of cologne he used after a shower.

The shirt started sliding down Hanzo’s shoulders before he reached up himself to slowly and gently push the sleeves down his arms. Jesse reached down to adjust himself unsuccessfully through his sweatpants. Hanzo was _perfect_. The way his black hair trailed down just past his shoulders, laying over part of the dragons and clouds on his left bicep, the way his lips were curled ever so slightly upwards in a coy smile…it was setting Jesse ablaze. He _wanted_ him. The desire to pin him back on the bed and to bite and lick at the soft white skin of his neck was sending pulsing waves of craving down through Jesse’s chest only to pool in his belly. His. This man was all his. He didn’t have to share, didn’t have to wonder if he would have a fiancé when he got home. The trust and love he felt for the man was rivaled by none.

                “Fuck Han…”

The archer sat up, discarded the shirt off to the side of the bed before propping up on his knees. Jesse could see the blush even over the video that had dusted his cheeks and began coloring the tips of his fiancé’s ears—barely visible behind the wisps of gray hair that framed his face. Hanzo’s fingers toyed with the waistband of the pair of Jesse’s pants he was wearing, giving Jesse slight peeks that—

                “Fuck…he’s not wearin’ anythin’…”

The button pop was barely heard by the cowboy who was scrambling to shove his own pants down. His Hanzo _never_ did this. Sure, he could be coy and alluring when they were together, but to send him a strip tease while Jesse was on assignment? Jesse’s blood was hot and singing as he looked back to the hologram only to see Hanzo staring at him with those golden eyes.

                _“Jesse…”_ His hands had left his pants to come up and grope at his pecs, and it was then that Jesse noticed something glint in the morning light. Jesse’s eyes grew huge and he actually leaned forward for a better look. Hanzo gave a chuckle as he rolled his nipples between his index and middle fingers. A metal bar with balls on either side shone as he toyed with the pink hardening buds. _“I hope you like them…I got them right after you left…They were fully healed the other day._ ”

The gunslinger whimpered as he watched Hanzo toy with his nipples—one of Jesse’s favorite spots on the archer. “That’s so…nnn…hot.” He had asked Hanzo once if had ever considered piercing them, and if memory served, Hanzo had danced around the question. To see them with metal poking from the hardening buds…

Jesse groaned. He watched as Hanzo’s hands migrated from his tits to pull the zipper of his pants down, revealing the bulge of his cock and the dark hair at its base. He had obviously been planning this, and that made Jesse groan even louder. The cowboy leaned back against the four pillows provided for the bed and watched as the archer hooked his fingers in his pants and wiggled his hips, pushing the fabric lower and lower until—

                “ _Nnn…Jesse…I miss you.”_

As soon as the fabric was down far enough, Hanzo’s cock strung up, free for Jesse to ogle openly. Hanzo shifted to sit back on the bed so he could attempt to gracefully kick of the pants. Once they were on the floor he was on his knees in the center of the bed, completely bare for Jesse’s viewing. If his mouth had been dry before, Jesse’s mouth was a desert now. His fiancé was beyond perfection; his whole body looking like it had been hand chiseled by gods, a perfect product of keeping up with training. His hair looked like rolls of silk cascading down, and his tattoo look beautiful and sophisticated. Jesse’s hand snaked down to pull his cock free from his pants. Fingers waltzed up the hot organ and god, did he wish those fingers were Hanzo’s.

Under Jesse’s watchful eye Hanzo reached over the side of the bed. Even as Jesse began lazily stroking up himself, he was insanely curious about what Hanzo was doing. Then he heard it. A familiar clinking—like metal chains—

Jesse down right whimpered. He had the box out.

Hanzo’s hands returned into view of the camera with a small tube between his fingers. With a slick smile he wiggled it for Jesse. Lube. That could only mean…

                “Yer killin’ me darlin’…”

Hanzo turned his back to Jesse, giving Jesse a wonderful view of his powerful back muscles, the slope of his back to his oh so grab-able hips, and down to his ass. What Jesse wouldn’t give for a handful of those soft globes right about then…it really had been too long.

The cowboy watched hungrily as his fiancé slicked his fingers with the lube and dip into the cleft of his ass. He made a show of it, knowing Jesse would be watching every movement with the eyes of a hawk. Jesse watched with baited breath as those fingers disappeared into his hole, probing in and out in deliberately slow movements that Jesse did his best to match in his own slow jerks.

Just when Jesse thought that this was it, that _this_ was the show, Hanzo showed that unpredictability that Jesse loved. Hanzo pulled his finger out slowly before his hand disappeared once again over the side of the bed. All the while Jesse lay stroking himself slowly. He could feel the coil in his stomach tightening occasionally, a signal that the slightest thing might set him off.

                “Baby…”

                “ _Jesse,”_ Hanzo’s sudden voice made Jesse almost jump. From beside the bed— _He must have the box out_ , Jesse realized with a whimper—he pulled an object that made Jesse’s dick _jump_. In his fiancé’s hand was a long and familiar object, dark blue—almost black—in color. The gunslinger froze when he saw the dildo, and he sucked in a shaky breath as Hanzo reached down to press the head of it to his hole. Hanzo was beginning to look disheveled, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, and when the tip pressed just inside the ring of his entrance his mouth dropped open a little. “ _I miss you Anata.”_

That did it. Jesse watched helplessly as Hanzo set to work, shoving the toy inside himself, and Jesse tried to match his thrusts with a twist and pull of his hand. He got lost in the movements and with each passing moment his desire to be with the love of his life increased. How he wanted to push Hanzo to the sheets, to push his cock inside his heat, to press kisses to every inch of his skin, to show him how much he loved him. Over the video he could hear the strain in Hanzo’s voice as he sped up faster and faster and the sound of wet skin slapping. Jesse’s own panting got louder and louder until he could hardly hear Hanzo. His orgasm was right around the corner, threatening to spill over at any minute. Meanwhile Hanzo was whimpering loudly as he worked himself.

Jesse had been so focused on the image of the dildo disappearing into his fiancé that he almost missed it. The cowboy’s eyes had glanced up briefly and then froze when they saw the look on Hanzo’s face. His eyes were glazed, lust filled, and focused completely on Jesse. His mouth was slightly ajar, giving the slightest peak of his tongue.

                “ _I love you._ ”

The orgasm was practically punched out of him. Jesse came with a howl of Hanzo’s name, his eyes snapping shut, head flopping back against the pile of pillows behind him. Cum dripped down his flesh fingers and he milked himself for relief. By the time he opened his eyes, Hanzo had stopped moving. The dildo had fallen to the bed and Hanzo’s body was shaking. The archer’s cock was quivering as it slowly softened. Jesse could see the mess before his lover on the bed.     

                “Ah…” Jesse groped around for a tissue from his nightstand to clean off his hand while it looked like Hanzo was doing the same.

Hanzo eventually leaned forward towards the camera. Jesse perked up, straining to listen. In the softest, most tender tone Jesse had heard from Hanzo, the archer murmured a sweet, “ _Come home safe Jesse. I miss you so much. Have a good day.”_

Jesse’s heart melted. The video ended and no sooner had the screen went black and the hologram disappeared was he scrambling for his phone. Quickly he typed out a message and sent it to Hanzo.

                _“I’ll be home tomorrow. Y’ better be ready Hanny Bee.”_

* * *

 

Morning couldn’t come quickly enough for Jesse. His alarm went off at 6:00am, and Jesse found himself practically bounding out of bed. He took a military shower—just to get the smell of his previous night’s activities off of his skin—brushed through his hair, trimmed up his beard, and sprayed himself with cologne. Jeans and cowboy boots were shucked on, along with a tight t-shirt he knew his fiancé was fond of. And of course the hat sat like a crown atop his cowboy head. Bags were packed quickly, and soon he was joining the other Overwatch agents in the elevator to take their luggage out to the van that would drive them to the airport.

Jesse enjoyed a quick plate of food at the continental breakfast, but he had scarcely finished before he was being ushered along with the others. His heart was beating fast in his chest as he thought of the warm reunion he was going to have with the older Shimada brother. Soon the van had arrived at the tarmac and the bags were being unloaded again and reloaded into the transport. Lena was eager to greet him with a tight squeeze before having to go back to behind the pilot controls. By then the sun had risen and Jesse was ready to hunker down in a seat towards the back of the transport. With a couple overhead announcements from Lena, they were pulling away from the airport of Dorado and soaring high above the ground and through the sky.

The cowboy used this time to catch up on news, scrolling through website after website to catch up on what he missed out on in the past three weeks. It was a long flight, so he felt like he had all the time in the world to catch up.

About halfway through his flight he decided to check his email. Of course, much like his text messages, a lot were from work. He had to sift through them to find the important tid bits—those usually came from Jack. It was as he was going through his nearly overflowing inbox that he saw something peculiar. From an unknown sender, with a subject line which read: “Open Me.” Jesse snorted. What was this? Alice in Wonderland? His finger hovered over the delete button, but he found himself wondering what was inside. Athena had state of the art security on all Overwatch devices, so it wasn’t like he could get a virus, right?

He clicked for the email to open. Inside was a URL link that was a jumble of nonsense. There was no note, no sign from a sender. Merely a link.    

                “Now what do we have ‘ere?”

Curiously he clicked to follow the link. What he saw had him nearly dropping his phone.

                “What the fuck?”

The red that crawled up his neck was not from arousal or embarrassment, but raw anger. It twisted and gnawed at him as he watched the several videos on the site. His nails dug into his flesh palm and his metal hand could have crushed his phone. After seeing everything he needed to see he nearly chucked his phone in rage.

Oh he couldn’t _wait_ to see his _fiancé._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT BEGINS
> 
> STRAP IN FOLKS


	5. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic--specifically has been in my head for a year. A whole year this month. It's evolved and changed a little over the year, but this chapter was what made everything else possible. I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> Ha.
> 
> Also, make sure y'all read the updated tags. Shit's getting real from here on out.

Angela had been less than pleased with the state in which Hanzo came into her medical office. The medical wing was small now in comparison to the old Overwatch days; while they still had an extensive wing filled with rooms for patients in case the worst should happen, their small staff size at the current date made it unnecessary to keep most of the room up and running. Currently Angela had a team of a constant twenty staff constantly rotating shifts, but she had another twenty waiting in the wings in case a mission ended poorly. The head doctor herself was sitting at her desk nibbling on her dinner when she heard the metallic doors swish open and the sound of footsteps.

 Hanzo had come in drenched with rain, his right arm draped across his front, cradled by the left. The Swiss woman leap up so quick her hair was left spinning. The archer still had glass and rock poking into his palms from when he tried to pick himself up.

            “All this glass and dirt,” the doctor said with a tsk.

She ushered Hanzo to sit up on the cushioned examination table while she pushed a small cart filled with medical implements over. The man sat obediently and offered his non broken arm first. With glasses resting on the bridge of her nose Angela went about plucking the glass and rocks from his hands using tweezers. The left hands had been easy enough, especially after cleaning it with alcohol and using her Nano bots, it looked almost good as new save for a couple of the deeper scratches that were still visible. The right hand took a much softer touch.

            “I have to clean the open wounds before I bandage it,” Angela explained as she worked. Hanzo’s face was nothing if not stoic, which was most impressive to her considering she was still moving around his broken arm even if it was only slightly; it couldn’t be comfortable in any case. His eyes merely watched her nimble hands work at the damaged skin of his hand. “If there is still bacteria when I put the wrappings on for the cast—“

            “If could fester. I am aware.” The archer had been his own doctor for nearly a decade while on the run. He was also very familiar with the fevers that came from infections.

His arm was very broke—which he told her with no amount of sarcasm that he didn’t have a top notch medical degree but he could have told her that. Dr. Ziegler spent a good portion of the evening working with her Nano bots to heal the bone as much has she could before wrapping it in a hard blue cast from his wrists to his elbow.

            “I would like to know how you obtained such injuries,” she said as she put the finishing touches on the cast so I couldn’t move around.

Hanzo kept his eyes on her hands. “I fell off my motorcycle on my way back from town.”

            “From town?”

            “I was getting tea,” Hanzo elaborated.

Angela didn’t quite buy it but she knew better than to press the older Shimada; Genji had warned her years ago—before the archer was in Overwatch—that the man had a short temper and felt easily caged. “You should be more careful. You are lucky this isn’t 2000 anymore, or else you would be off duty for six weeks instead of two.”

Hanzo inclined his head in a surprising gesture. “Thank you Dr. Ziegler.”

 The doctor couldn’t quite pin down the enigma that was Hanzo Shimada. The first she had heard of him he was the one that put Genji in the condition in which he had been wheeled into her surgical room years ago. For years the name only brought for images of some sort of demon—for who else could do such a thing to his own kin? But now that image was so less sure. She had seen his determination on the field, his willingness to provide back up and cover to his team mates. She had seen how the archer made Jesse smile. Who was this man really?

She watched the man flex his fingers gently before getting to his feet. “I have a couple days’ worth of antibiotics I want you to take,” she informed him. “It’s a hybrid type that my old team in Switzerland developed—it’s half antibiotic, half painkiller. It should help with any residual pain from the break.” The blonde walked to a cabinet on the wall and dug out a large bottle stuffed with white pills and counted out a few and put in another smaller bottle. “Take one a day until you run out. One of your scratches on your right hand is a little deep—I want to make sure it doesn’t get infected.” Angela came back to Hanzo and placed the bottle in his left hand. “You need to be more careful on the road Hanzo.”

* * *

 

Another sleepless night would have greeted if not for the pills Angela gave him. His run in with Akande had shaken him more than he had led on. To see the old acquaintance again…to be asked to join Talon…It was a lot to take in. Then there was the talk of trust that had cut him to his core…

He had taken one pill with water before bed and he found himself getting more relaxed than he had been in weeks. Sleep took him easily despite his thoughts of the Talon leader and his frightening gauntlet, and he was able to sleep until after the clock struck noon. When he woke it was because he felt a flash of pain go down his arm. Then—

 _‘Agent Shimada,’_ came Athena’s robotic voice seemingly out of nowhere.

Hanzo stirred under the covers, head poking out from them slowly. His response was somewhere between a growl and a grumble.

            ‘ _I am rousing you to inform you that Agent McCree’s transport just landed.’_

Now _that_ woke Hanzo up. He bolted out of bed, shrugging on jeans and a black shirt in a hurry before tying back his hair in his special red ribbon. Hanzo raced out of his room, leaving the door to hiss shut behind him.

Perhaps if he had been paying attention to which arm had been in pain when he woke, he may have heeded the warning before it was too late.

* * *

 

By the time Jesse got off his seven hour flight he was itching under his skin. He hadn’t felt this angry since his days in Deadlock.

His bags were already being sent up to his room as he exited the transport onto the tarmac. It was a cool day where the entire sky was full of gray clouds that looked like they would break with rain at any moment. The cowboy’s footsteps were heavy as he stormed inside the main building where the lounge and all the living quarters were. A few people threw “hello’s” and “welcome home’s” his way, but he ignored them all; he was hell-bent on finding his fiancé.

Jesse had figured the man would be in the training range, so he was a little surprised to see him coming out of the elevator to the living quarters and starting to cross the lounge area which was packed with people. Anger and hurt flared in him.

            “Hanzo!” he barked out.

Although the tone seemed wrong, Hanzo perked up at the voice. He whipped around, seeing Jesse advancing on him with quick strides. Hanzo broke into a rare smile and stopped just before the hallway to the kitchen.  He put out his arms, anticipating an embrace. “Ah, Jesse! I—“

Suddenly Hanzo was being shoved backwards. Hanzo went stumbling ungracefully only to be jerked back forward. If Jesse had planned on being amorous, the metal fist he was clenching his throat with in order to shove him up the wall was counter intuitive. Hanzo found his feet leaving the ground as he was lifted a little higher and he spluttered out a surprise cough as some of his air was cut off. His eyes went wide and his fingers scrambled to pry at those fingers. Hanzo was staring eye to eye with the gunslinger whose own eyes were burning with a rage he had never seen in him before. Static was racing up and down his arm as his spirit dragons thrashed about in distress, but Hanzo held them back from attacking his fiancé.

            “How long were y’ gonna hide it from me?” Jesse growled. “Did y’ ever _actually_ love me? Or was it all a fuckin’ lie?”

Hanzo’s nails dug at McCree’s metal hand, trying to pry it free. “J-Jesse?”

Jesse growled and slammed Hanzo back into the wall causing him to cough. “Don’t y’ dare play fuckin’ stupid with me!”

            “But I do not—“ Hanzo’s heart was hammering in his throat. What had happened? What was Jesse talking about? His eyes narrowed and he attempted to shove Jesse back. “Get the hell off of me!”

 _You fucked up somehow. It was just a matter of time_ , his brain supplied.

Jesse’s face was flushed red in his anger as he slammed Hanzo back again. “Y’ used me!” he yelled at him. “You’ve played me from t’ beginning!”

Glancing behind Jesse, Hanzo could see people starting to get out of their chairs and were staring at them, unsure if they should intervene.

_They won’t intervene for you. They’re on Jesse’s side, not the one who hurt Genji._

            “Jesse, I do not know what you are talking about…” Hanzo protested angrily. How _dare_ Jesse grab him like that! His head was starting to spin from part of his air being cut off. “Let go--!”

His fiancé did nothing of the sort. If anything the fingers dug in tighter. At this rate he was going so shatter Hanzo’s windpipe. Hanzo started struggling against his hold, giving desperate growl as he started clawing at the metal arm even harder. When the grip didn’t loosen Hanzo reached out with his left arm and grabbed hold of him. The dragons immediately lashed out, surging against the metal and the result was instant—Jesse let go with a surprised yipe. Hanzo fell to the ground, landing directly on his cast, causing a crack to appear along the length of it. Jesse stumbled back, waving the smoke away from his arm which now had a strange tree like burn climbing up the metal. He was panting heavy from being shocked, but he appeared no less angry than before.

Hanzo very hesitantly got to his feet. If Jesse thought he was going to cower back, he was wrong. Quick as lightning, his left fist flung out, catching Jesse in the jaw and staggering him. “What has gotten into you? Did Dorado cook your brain?” He could only hope his tone was steadier than he felt. His vision was swimming slightly and his broken arm was throbbing painfully—he had a feeling Jesse re-broke what Angela had patched up the night before.

The cowboy snorted cruelly as he swiped at the scrape on his jaw. “Y’ _would_ joke at a time like this,” he snarled. After a long pause he spat out, “I found yer little website.”

            “Website?”

If only Jesse knew the confused look on Hanzo’s face was genuine. “Yeah yer website! Y’kno, the one where y’ uploaded all our fuckin’ vids!”

Hanzo paled. The vids? Sure, they had made a couple during their lovemaking to watch at later dates. But… “I never—“

            “Christ, I knew y’ would lie about it too,” Jesse continued, flinging his arms up in agitation. Now _that_ stung. “I saw the dates on ‘em. From the very first video, all the way up t’ the one y’ sent me yesterday. They were all there.” Jesse was pacing back and forth like a cat of prey ready to strike. Hanzo had never seen him this wound up, not even when he had seen Reaper out in the field.

            “I would never do that,” Hanzo stated seriously. “You know me…”

            “Do I?” Jesse snapped. “I saw all the _other_ vids too. Y’kno, the ones where y’ let _other_ men fuck y’.”

The hurt was immediate. Jesse was turning on him. It felt like no matter what he said….

_‘I just find it strange is all. You decide to marry the murderer of your friend? The one that put him in that condition?’_

_‘Keep it in mind when your…lover comes home. Perhaps then you will see that he does not trust you nearly as much as you think.’_

Hanzo could have thrown up. Two complete strangers had foreseen this, how come he didn’t? It was evident now that Jesse didn’t trust him, and probably never had. He probably just saw him as the one that almost killed Genji…what good could Hanzo possibly be capable of? And Akande…he said he had been watching him, what did he see that Hanzo missed?

The older Shimada had been looking forward to Jesse’s return since the day he left. He had wanted nothing more than to have him home and curled next to him in bed for a lazy day. And now that he was, he was being accused in front of the entire base of not only posting their intimate videos on the web, but of sleeping with others. His arm was re-broke, and his dragons were having an absolute fit that their other ‘master’ had turned against them. Had this been their warning? The anxiety he though he has squashed down came roaring back like a thunder in his ears. Everything was suddenly way too much to handle and he desired to be by himself. But by the looks of it, Jesse wasn’t done in his verbal assault.

            “Y’ took all the vids we made together that I _trusted_ y’ with, and posted them online fer everyone t’ see,” he stated. His eyes were still an inferno of fury. “And if that wasn’t enough fer y’, y’ posted comment after comment for those _sleaze balls_ that commented. Y’ talked about how much y’ would _love_ to make movies with them too, how they look handsome and how y’ would love t’ meet up with ‘em.” Jesse’s teeth were gritted when he snarled out, “And then y’ did!”

Hanzo struggled to his feet. “You are talking nonsense Jesse—do you hear yourself? I love you—“

            “ _Don’t_.” The finality in his voice struck something deep in Hanzo that made him feel the tears suddenly surge up—but he refused to let them fall. Not in front of his entire team. Jesse either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it. “Y’ aren’t the man I thought you were. Why? After everything we’ve been through? After accepting my proposal? Why would y’…”

The panic started bubbling quickly, his anger flickering like a candle in the wind. “Jesse don’t do this—“ Hanzo went to move forward.

Jesse shoved him back again angrily. Another fist connected with Hanzo’s cheek. But instead of letting him get away with it, Hanzo lashed out with his own. A panicked murmur rippled through the crowd as the couple began rolling around on the floor, trading blows. Jesse managed to pin Hanzo under him and hauled back his fist for another punch. Hanzo screwed his eyes shut and raised up his cast to block the blow, but it never came. Suddenly Jesse was being yanked back roughly by the back of his shirt. Hanzo’s eyes were wide as saucers as a large hand was hauling Jesse off of him.

            “You will not touch him again.” Reinhardt’s voice was deadly calm, enough to send a shiver down Hanzo spin.

            “Put me down Rein—“

The German snorted. “So you can attack him again? I think not.”

            “He deserves it!” Jesse growled. “He fuckin’ betrayed me! He doesn’t love me! That fucker—“

Hanzo didn’t hear the rest. With Jesse restrained by Reinhardt, Hanzo bolted. Neither Reinhardt nor Jesse noticed for a moment until they heard the doors for the nearby stair case slam shut. A void of sound was left in the archer’s wake as nobody knew what to say. Jesse was still furious, convinced Hanzo had posted all their videos online and that he was making passes at the people who commented on them. Just as Reinhardt tossed Jesse gracelessly to the ground, the sound of metal footsteps could be heard scrambling across the tile floor.

Jesse was just getting up when the fist collided with his cheek.

            “What the hell did you do to my brother?!” Genji growled. He had flipped his visor up, allowing Jesse to see how mad he truly was. Someone in the crowd had texted him what was going on, and the ninja had ran from the mediation gardens to intervene. Only he seemed to be too late.

Jesse spit the blood out his mouth and onto the floor. “Yer brother is a whor—“

The next punch hurt twice as much.

            “You call him that again and you will be missing teeth, I promise you that,” Genji stated. “You may be my best friend, but you will _not_ hurt Anija.”

Reinhardt stood firmly beside Genji. “What has gotten into you? Why would you attack Hanzo like that?” The German was frowning heavily. “You love him…or have you forgotten?”

Jesse was still fuming. From his pocket he pulled his phone, and with a couple taps on the screen brought up the link that was in the mysterious email. He shoved the phone at Genji and Reinhardt. “ _There._ There’s my proof. There all the vids we ever made together, and there…” he pointed to a couple others, “are the ones of him _cheating_ on me.” Saying it out loud hurt.

Genji took the phone and hesitantly clicked a couple before shoving the phone away towards the tank of a man next to him. “I don’t believe that for a moment.”

            “Y’ see the proof Genji! What t’ fuck else do y’ need?!” Jesse spat. His eyes suddenly got watery as he snatched his phone back. “Y’ think I wanted t’ believe it either? I loved ‘im!”

            “Well, trying to pummel him was not a good way to go about it.” Reinhardt looked worriedly to the door Hanzo had disappeared through. “I hope he’s okay. His arm looked a little…”

The cowboy paused. Hanzo’s arm had been in a cast hadn’t it? He tried to push down the guilt the surged up his throat.

Reinhardt gave a sigh. “You should go after him Jesse. Maybe hear him out. Surely—“

            “And say what?” Jesse snapped. “He cheat on me! We’re supposed t’ be married in a year…and he…”

Genji stepped forward angrily. “My brother would _never_ cheat—“

            “What the _hell_ is going on here?” came an angry bark from across the room. The crowd immediately scatted as none other than Commander Morrison came storming across the floor. Although he was much older than he had been when he was an _actual_ commander, and he was missing the blue duster like coat, the man had a stride the radiated anger, and everyone knew he was scowling beneath his visor.

Jesse gulped. “Jack—“

            “Why the hell am I getting reports you and Shimada are fighting?” Jack snarled. His head turned this way and that before snapping, “Where the hell is he?”

Genji crossed his arms. “He fled when Reinhardt intervened.”

Jack sighed. “Go get him. I’m not putting up with this fighting bullshit amongst my crew.”

            “Now wait just a—“ Jesse went to protest.

But Genji didn’t listen to him. He went through the set of doors Hanzo had went through and began his ascent up the staircase. The stairs led up and up through the building—an alternate to the elevator—leading to each floor of the living quarters. If his brother had went up to any room, it would have to have been to his own. Genji exited through a pair of doors leading to Hanzo’s floor, and he quietly made his way down the hall to the room in which Jesse and Hanzo lived.

His metal knuckles rapped on the door. “ _Anija? It’s me. Please let me in?”_

Silence answered him.

            “ _Hanzo, please—“_

            ‘ _Guest recognized as Genji Shimada,’_ Athena’s voice suddenly rang out. _‘Agent Shimada is no longer here.’_

Genji cocked his head to the side. “Not here, but…” He watched him come through the door and not come back down through the lobby—the only way out of the building. “What do you mean he’s not here? Let me in please.”

            ‘ _Special permission granted_.’

The doors clicked and hissed open. Genji stepped into his brother’s room and gazed around. It looked normal enough; he had half expected his older brother to have ruined the place, but everything seemed to be in place. But sure enough, after a quick check, he confirmed his brother wasn’t there. However…

Genji went over to the open window. The curtain was drifting gently on the damp breeze. “Athena, what can you tell me about my brother when he came up here?”

            ‘ _Agent Shimada came in approximately ten minutes ago, found his wallet and keys on his night stand, and left through the window with it and his bow case on his back. He appeared to be struggling with his right arm. My scanners indicted it was re-broken, but he ignored me when I asked him to be checked out by Doctor Ziegler’_

Genji paled. His bow, keys, and wallet? He looked down out the window—Hanzo climbed all those floors to the ground? “Did he say where he was going?”

            ‘ _Negative. The only comments made by him were under his breath and appeared pained and possibly self-depreciating.’_

            “Can you tell if he’s still on base?”

            ‘ _One moment…’_ Athena paused for a couple moments before coming back to Genji. ‘ _Negative. His motorcycle is missing from the garage. My scanners show he is not within range of any of my monitoring devices—‘_

Genji covered his mouth with a metal hand, his eyes large and on the verge of tears. Gone. His brother was gone.

* * *

 

Night had fallen by the time Hanzo got to town. It was back to pouring down rain, obscuring the starry sky with black clouds. The motorcycle was hard to maneuver with his arm as busted as it was, but Hanzo managed, even with the large instrument case strapped to his back.

He parked his bike in his normal spot outside Tea Time Café, but instead of heading inside, he stumbled towards the alleyway beside it. Despite several people walking the sidewalks no one paid the man any mind. There was no delivery truck this day, so he was free to walk down the dark alley towards the courtyard. A normal person may have worried such a side street would contain any amount of violent criminals hiding within its darkness, but Hanzo _dared_ for someone to approach him.

Once Hanzo reached the courtyard within, he slumped against the wall, too tired to go any further. He slowly slide down the brick façade. Somewhere on his trip to sitting on the ground his red ribbon fell out and dipped into the puddle beside him but he paid it no mind. In the blind spot of the security cameras he knew were there he sat—for how long he couldn’t say, hair drenched, clothes sticking to him, and his body shaking with the cold. He matched his breathing with the rain and sat. Waiting.

He was jarred from the void in his thoughts by a splash in a nearby puddle. By then the archer was drenched to the bone and had no idea how much time had passed. Had it been minutes? Hours? His eyes saw a pair of boots before him.

            “Have you reconsidered my offer?” the man before him asked.

Hanzo snorted. “My being here should be evidence enough.”

Akande made a snort-like noise as if to mock him. He reached down, offering a hand which Hanzo eagerly took to get to his feet. The talon leader quirked an eyebrow at the shattered cast but said nothing. “You do realize there will be no going back to them after this right? You will be branded a traitor.”

The archer made eye contact with his old acquaintance. A dead gaze. The fire had gone out, Akande realized with a slight smirk. “I know. There is nothing for me there.”

Hanzo became aware of a pair of headlights that flickered at the mouth of the alleyway. A black Lexus sat there with a man at the wheel—waiting for them. Careful of Hanzo’s broken arm, Doomfist ushered Hanzo to the vehicle.

As they approached, Doomfist motioned for the instrument case so he could put it in the trunk. “What made you change your mind?” He carefully placed the case in the back of the car before opening the door for Hanzo.

Hanzo took a last gaze around. This would probably be the last time he would be around Gibraltar. He regretted not having a more proper goodbye with Ms. Miller. Perhaps he would be able to buy her Hanamura tea again one day.

The archer paused just before the open car door. He met Akande’s dark eyes briefly before admitting in a voice that could only be described as heartbroken, “I realized you were right.”

Doomfist closed the door once Hanzo was inside before looping around the car to open his own door and slide inside.

All those months—years—of planning, plotting, setting up the board for the game, and finally—finally!—their plan had borne fruit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                                          


	6. Mistakes

_Unbelievable_.

The door to his quarters hissed open, allowing Jesse to march in, spurs clinking noisily with each step. His boots were kicked off unceremoniously and angrily, landing in a pile next to others stacked neatly by the door—a habit instilled upon him by Hanzo. Teeth clenched, he felt like he was boiling angry under his skin. How dare they. How was it that _he_ was the one that got cheated on and yet _he_ was the bad guy? He was the victim if anything.

But then why did his heart burn so badly with guilt?

 It had lapsed into the evening, and despite a stomach roaring for food McCree ignored it in favor looking around his living space with a critical eye. Normally after a mission he would be immediately pulled into debriefing, but with Hanzo running off like he did Morrison and Winston had their hands full trying to locate him; even Genji had left to go trace some of the roads into town. Jesse had neglected visiting Angela, full well knowing she would chastise him for his treatment of Hanzo. The bruise on his face was no doubt a nasty looking color if how it pulsed and throbbed was any indication.

 _Why was his arm broken?_ He wondered, recalling the broken cast and Reinhardt’s comment. Somehow it had escaped his notice when he first confronted his fiancé—no doubt because of the bitter anger that had been racing through his veins, but now in the aftermath, he couldn’t help but wonder.

Jesse padded barefoot into their room, taking in his surroundings like a crime scene. Slowly he could feel his heart beat slowing, his jaw unclenching, his fingers uncurling from the fists that had hung by his side. He let out a hot almost shutter breath. In all honesty he had expected a room unlike his own. Images from his imagination had come unbidden to the surface during the plane ride back, filling his mind with the room he shared with Hanzo covered with half-filled wine glasses, discarded clothes of lovers, personal effects left in the places that Jesse put his own. Instead his room almost looked identical to how he left it. Perhaps his things had been straightened up a little, and some dusting and vacuuming done. But it almost looked just like how he left it. And yet his brown hawkish eyes scanned the room, looking for that pieces of damning evidence that would justify his actions.

The bed was unmade—

                “Athena,” he called out as he examined the bed. Cold, unmade on Hanzo’s side, pillow tilted, Jesse’s half still made although wrinkled. “What can y’ tell me ‘bout Hanzo this morning?” he asked as fingers traced the sheets. He had spent so many nights beside Hanzo, curled up together, finding comfort in each other’s arms. Had other men really shared this bed when he was gone? Was his side of the sheets so quickly filled and defiled?

“ _Agent Shimada slept in late,_ ” came Athena’s familiar voice ringing gently through the room. “ _He only awoke because I alerted him to your landing.”_

Jesse gulped. “So…he woke up an’ just went down t’ see me?”

                “ _Yes. He got up in quite a hurry to catch you coming off the helipad._ ”

A strong knot of guilt had begun twisting in his stomach. He had been sleeping and just because Jesse had come home…

The window was open---

A whistle of wind grabbed his attention. Getting up front the bed he wandered to the window that Genji had failed to close. It was still pouring down rain and the wind was pushing it violently against the side of the building. Jesse pulled the window shut with a _thunk_ before staring down through the rain covered glass to the ground far below.

                “He climbed out the window?”

                “ _Yes. He was acting very odd when he came in after his encounter with you,_ ” the AI replied. Since she was part of the base, she had without a doubt witnessed the fight between the two. And it made Jesse shift uneasily.

                “Why?”

                “ _Perhaps he did not want to walk by you again. I cannot speculate what was going on in Agent Shimada’s head. His behavior seemed a more erratic than how he has been in previous weeks.”_

It was a long way to the ground. Surely Hanzo would be capable of such a feat, but with a broken arm during a storm? Surely it would have been a struggle.

                “How has he been actin’?”

                “ _Very…sluggish. Depressed. His sleep has been little, and his eating sparse. He rarely smiled in these past weeks, and even less in the past few days,”_ the AI informed him. “ _I suggested he go talk to Doctor Ziegler or Commander Morrison about treatment for depression, but he always snorted at my attempts to help.”_

 Jesse wandered back to the bed, trying to process Athena’s words. He knew Hanzo’s past haunted him—hell, everyone in Overwatch seemed to have _that_ in common. But from what Athena said, it seemed like Hanzo had been hiding the severity of it from him.

 Hanzo’s tablet was sitting on the night stand---

Walking over he picked it up gently and typed in the password—knowing Hanzo only had a few he liked using. They both knew each other’s passcodes, but out of respect never used them. What was he going to see? Messages from lovers? His webpage with all the videos? If there was going to be any real condemning proof, it would be on this device. The screen lit up, revealing the last webpage he had up. Jesse found himself blinking dumbly as he regarded what loaded.

Akitas. A whole search engine full of pictures of akitas of all colors and ages. Fluffy, medium sized dogs that could almost pass as bears with curled tails stared up at him with button-like eyes.

                _‘We should get a dog.’_

Hesitantly Jesse backtracked through Hanzo’s browser history. Hanzo had weeks to sit by himself and update those videos and comment. And if he had left so abruptly that morning, he wouldn’t have time to go through and delete his ‘paper trail’ so to speak. But the further back the gunslinger went, the more he found of the same. Cooking recipes, dogs, book reviews, science articles, weather forecasts, more dogs, more dogs, more dogs…

The tablet slipped from his fingers gently onto the bed, screen still lit up showing a picture of a bunch of puppies in a basket. Hanzo had talked about getting a dog once, before they got engaged. His fiancé had been so hopeful about it. And Jesse had squashed down the idea. He could recall the moment he had told Hanzo it wouldn’t be a good idea, and he could clearly see the moment the smile had slid from his face. How hopeful had Hanzo been that Jesse would say yes? How much inner debate had he gone through just to breach the subject with Jesse? Guilt crawled up McCree’s throat like acid. Would that truly have made him so happy? Jesse couldn’t help the trembling in his flesh hand as he thought of his fiancé sitting alone, looking longingly at pictures of the fuzzy companions he wish he had. But after Jesse had turned down the idea, Hanzo had never spoken of it again. How much more sadness and disappointment had he bottled up inside?

“Athena…” The cowboy gulped. It took a moment for him to gather the courage to ask, and Athena waited patiently for him to speak. Athena, although she had her own personality, could not lie to an Overwatch agent—it was in her programing. If he asked her a question, she had to answer truthfully. When he spoke again, his voice cracked. “Was he alone?”

There was a pause. “ _I do not understand your query. Alone, Agent McCree?”_

Jesse’s fingers curled into the sheets. “Was he alone while he slept?” he asked quietly, desperately. “When I’m gone…Is he alone?” Another pregnant silence filled the room. “Please, Athena, tell me…”

                “ _Agent Shimada rarely has guests,_ ” came the answer. “ _He will sometimes entertain Genji Shimada, or Agent Reinhardt, but nobody else that comes up here while you are gone stays long. They stop at the door typically and do not enter after exchanging words with Hanzo._ ”

Then Jesse felt sick. Despite the email that he had received from a mysterious person, there was an amazing lack of evidence that Hanzo had actually cheated on him. Nothing in the room was out of place, his browsing history want for anything outside the ordinary…

_And I just—_

Jesse had to scramble off the bed to make it to the bathroom in time, yanking off his hat along the way so he could throw his head over the toilet. He choked on the bile that came up—having not eaten much since the beginning of the day hours before.

                “ _Agent McCree, do I need to alert Dr.Zie—_ “

                “Don’t call ‘er!” he snapped.

It was several minute later before he made it back out of the bathroom. He had ruined everything. Now that the fog of anger had lifted from him, all Jesse could think about was the helpless look on Hanzo’s face as Jesse verbally tore into him…in front of everyone. With his metal hand he gripped the front of his shirt, bunching the fabric over his aching chest. The scaring across the metal of his arm from Hanzo’s self-defense leapt out at him, a screaming condemnation of what Jesse had done---what he had ruined. Like veins they shot down from where Hanzo’s hands had been holding on, all the way down his fingers like a crack in a glass. He had punched Hanzo, choked him, and called him vicious names. And Hanzo had taken it all.

Jesse sat on the edge of his bed, face buried in his hands. His face where Hanzo punched him was a dull throbbing sensation and nothing more as the cowboy lost himself in thought. How could he do such a thing? He loved Hanzo dearly! All because of an e-mail he over reacted to. He should have approached Hanzo in private, he should have questioned him wisely, he should have---

How long he sat there he had no idea. Forgotten was his anger, his hunger, his want of sleep. His mind was a jumble of thoughts of what he could have done different and what was going to happen. He hadn’t even heard the hiss of the door opening, nor the metal footsteps on the floor. It wasn’t until he felt the bed dip and he heard Genji speak did he know his friend was sitting beside him. Rain still was sliding off the metal of his body, and falling from the bangs that were plastered to his visor-less face. Arms came up to loop around Jesse’s shoulders loosely. The cyborg had not forgiven him, and Jesse knew this, but they were a team with history. He could only hope that meant something. And the fact that Genji hadn’t come storming in brandishing a weapon was more than Jesse thought he deserved.

                “He is gone,” Genji admitted in a broken tone. “I…could not locate him on any of the paths into town. And with the storm so bad…any tread marks or evidence of his whereabouts will be washed away.”

Jesse gave a pitiful whine that had Genji holding on tighter. The younger Shimada had only seen Jesse cry twice. Once was when Ana Amari—the cowboy’s mentor and dear friend—had been pronounced dead. The second was following the death of Gabriel Reyes in his bombing of Overwatch’s Swiss HQ. Genji rested his chin on top of Jesse’s head as his friend turned to hide his face against him. “What am I gonna do, Genji? I fucked up. I fucked up so bad…”

Genji said nothing, for he did not know. Surely they would keep looking, but for now all he could do was hopelessly hold onto his best friend and would-be brother-in-law as Jesse dissolved into uncontrollable sobs.

* * *

 

                “We’re here.”

Akande’s voice snapped Hanzo out of the blankness he had lulled himself into, soothed into an almost meditative trance with the only noise the low growl of the car’s engine as white-noise. How much time had passed since he got into the car in the alleyway was unknown to him, and without a sky overhead it was impossible for him to even fathom a guess. The black BMW had stopped in a poorly lit parking garage somewhere underground. Concrete pillars and painted outlines of parking spots stretched on for what seemed like forever outside the car window, lit every so often by the yellow glow of an overhead light. A nearby illuminated wall showed a sliding metal door with a button on the wall beside it—an elevator. Akande was getting out of the car when Hanzo snapped back to reality. The archer was immediately aware of how tired and hungry he was, but also of the buzzing pain that was shooting through his broken arm.

The driver remained seated with the engine on as Akande came around to Hanzo’s door and opened it for him. He offered his hand—his gauntlet not on but the prosthetic pieces still in tacked—to Hanzo whom took it reluctantly. The air in the parking garage tasted of damp salt, like the ocean, meaning they were close to the shore. But which one? He had been given a water bottle and some chip like snacks in the car, but they hadn’t lasted all too long, making Hanzo feel like he had been in the car for an eternity—and with Akande allowing the silence he wanted, he could not even measure the time and distance based on the length of their conversation, for there was none. Surely a lot of time had passed, and they had stopped more than once to swap into identical vehicles, but how far from Gibraltar was he?

_It doesn’t matter. There is nothing left for you there._

The talon operative motioned the archer to follow. “Your things will be brought in. Do not worry,” he said when Hanzo glanced towards the trunk.

Hanzo gave a slight stumble as he went to catch up, his legs aching slightly from disuse. Akande waited at the elevator doors for him to approach. As soon as Hanzo came to stop beside Akande, the car gave a rev before backing up and speeding down further in the parking garage, leaving Hanzo alone again in the silence with Doom Fist towering next to him. The giant reached out and pressed the call button several times—in a timed pattern if Hanzo had to hazard a guess—before the metal doors slid open, revealing a black and metal interior lit from an overhead light. Ushered in, he stood under the light as his new companion pressed another button as if to a timed rhythm. The doors slid shut quietly before the elevator cart gave a gentle jump of starting up. Hanzo got the sensation of being lowered, down, down, down, as if he were being lowered into a grave in the center of the earth. Akande was straight faced the entire time, dark eyes staring ahead in an almost bored matter.

Hanzo had just started zoning out when the deep voice next to him cut the silence. “I will give you a tour, but first we must get your arm straightened.” His companion gave him an almost sympathetic look—or rather, as sympathetic as someone in Talon could get he supposed. “Your fiancé re-broke it huh?”

Tense shoulders and a downward gaze were the only answer Akande received. The duo lapsed into silence again as they descended before all of the sudden the cart stopped. A very digital voice overhead chirped out, “Medical Wing A.” When the doors slid open. What play beyond was dark walls and flooring—the opposite of what one would think to find in a stark white hospital. As Akande led Hanzo beyond a small reception area the archer could only not how high tech everything felt; there was no clutter in the halls, the lighting was sparse but effective, and every door they passed by required a passcode of some sort. Cameras watched their every move as they progressed, as did the different colored lights that were omnic eyes.  Hanzo had yet to see a living person beside his guide and to say it unnerved him was an understatement; Genji maybe have been a cyborg but he at least had some humanity, and Zenyatta…well, Hanzo hadn’t trusted him fully, but Genji seemed to care for him. All other contact with omnics had been in the shady world of the yakuza for the most part. Omnics seemed to loom everywhere in the medical wing, and even with their face plates expressionless, Hanzo could feel their gazes piercing him, sizing him up, and calculating. Each looked different, although they all seemed to either wear black lab coats or the black Talon tactical uniform.

Akande paid none of them any mind, not even the nurse-like omnics that bowed to him. Hanzo trailed slightly behind him, keeping a cautious eye on his surroundings. It would be so easy for Talon to kill him at any moment; he was down an arm and he had no weapons on him.

_Would that be so bad?_

Very abruptly, the talon agent stopped, causing Hanzo to run into his back.

                “We are here.” Akande had stopped them before a door like any other save for a small gold sign about head level with Hanzo which read ‘O’Deorain’. Hanzo eyed the plaque suspiciously, but said nothing. Doom Fist gave a light sigh before rapping his knuckles gently on the door.

                “Enter,” came a curt voice female voice.

The door gave a click before swishing open. Hanzo followed inside, trying not to cringe when he entered a dimly lit room and the door shut behind him. An office lay before him. There were no windows since they were underground, and frankly there was hardly any lighting. Shelving units lined nearly every inch of walls in the rather large room, filled to the brim with books of all thicknesses as well as scientific instruments and some medical equipment. Beakers filled with bright colored liquids sat beside glass display cases containing skulls—adding nothing but a mad scientist vibe to the room. Close to the door on a stand was a skeleton hanging from a metal hook, and Hanzo couldn’t help but wonder about it given the familiar name on the door. Across the room, a desk was set up under an overhead light, illuminating a figure who was hunched over. Computers and monitors hung from the ceiling nearby, showing vitals and other numbers that meant something or another. Despite the amount of things packed into the room, Hanzo got the distinct feeling everything had its place.

A woman sat in a plush chair, craned over her outstretched arm that she was cutting into with a scalpel. As Hanzo advanced, stopping a couple feet away with Akande, he could see the wires and tubes poking out of the skin of her hands. Bloody tissues sat in a pile nearby, along with tools splattered with blood, but the woman looked calm.

                “Hanzo, this is Dr.—“

                “Moira O’Deorain,” Hanzo cut in, golden eyes not leaving the woman. “I know.”

The woman put the scalpel aside finally and tucked a wire in a little more snug. Next came a few hasty stitches—paying no mind all the while to Doom Fist and Hanzo standing in her office. She then blotted off the stitches with a tissue before grabbing a small pen and waving it over her work, close to the skin. There was a sparkle of yellow and suddenly, the swelling that was on either side of the stitches was going down. With her other hand she reached up to adjust the computer like visor over her left eye, examining her work.

 _Nano-bots_ , Hanzo realized when he saw the light. Not too unlike Angela’s rod.

Dr. Moira O’Deorain looked up, her mismatched eyes glinting strangely in the light as she ran her gaze down the archer. Her high-collared suit-like outfit and white lab coat hid more of her form, but Hanzo could only fathom, based on the fact that she had just been adjusting some sort of circuits and tubing in her hand, that she was more like Genji underneath it all than he realized. She swiveled herself in her chair to face them before pushing her manicured nails through her short orange hair.

                “Shimada Hanzo, a pleasure to finally come face to face with you,” she said. Her voice was more mature than Hanzo expected, given her rather youthful appearance, with a bit of sultriness in it. In a fluid motion she got to her feet, coming to stand in front of Hanzo where he realized just how tall and slim she was; she was easily taller than McCree, a towering woman with a strange other worldly beauty about her. Her shoulders looked broad because of the padding, and with such a slender face she almost looked like she could be a performer of some sort. But something in the twist of her mouth into a smile was…unsettling. “I was interested to see if you were change your mind…” Her eyes darted down to the remains of the cast. “I see Akande had to _convince_ you to see reason.”

She made a circle of him, eyes dancing up and down before she suddenly turned away and gestured for him to sit in the chair she had once occupied. Hanzo hesitated, but after a nod from Akande, he wandered forward, taking a seat while the doctor began moving about the room.

                “Akande, you may leave. I shall summon you when I am done,” she said curtly.

The fighter snorted but took his leave. Hanzo felt an almost panic bubble up inside him in the silence that followed; Akande had been his escort, his guide and now—

When the door shut, the doctor turned a critical eye on him. “I heard you. When Akande went to introduce me. You _knew_. How?” Her tone was calm with an undercurrent of caution.

Hanzo tried to match the coolness in her tone, despite his dragons which were hissing inside, warning him that she was _dangerous_. “You know where I come from. Do you not think we keep tabs on people worth noting?”

She smirked. “Overwatch still—“

                “Not them,” he cut in with a snort.

With surprisingly gentle touches, Moira pulled the black t-shirt off of Hanzo and shucked it to the floor before attaching suction cup like sensors to various points on him. Hanzo went tense. “No need to get worried,” she chided as she glanced at the heart rate monitor. “If you were meant to be killed, Akande would have done so along the road somewhere. No need to dirty my lab. Besides, that shirt was unsightly dirty.” Once she seemed satisfied the sensors were transmitting correctly to the monitors, she went to fetch a small hand held device. A flip of the button on the handle revealed it to be a small handsaw. The whine of the blade made Hanzo’s pulse spike. Moira chuckled. “Then where, dear archer, have you heard of me? Does my reputation truly proceed me?”

Hanzo tried to calm his breathing. “Overwatch had a few files I was able to see your name in—most I did not have the authority to be reading in all honesty. But I had several documents in Hanamura that described you and your…endeavors, especially with those Nano bots.”

                “Ah yes, the mighty library of the Shimada.” She pressed the blade of the saw to the cast and began cutting through the remains. “And? What did it say of me? I hope it was flattering.”

Hanzo bristled at the mockery in her tone. For someone that the yakuza had eyes on, she was too calm and self-assured. “Captured Blackwatch agents from over a decade ago described some of your methods of treating wounds. Aggressive Nano technology, organ replacement, genetic altering…”

She gave a huff as the cast fell away, bits of the hard casing falling to the floor unceremoniously. “Blackwatch agents ran their mouths hmm?”

                “While they still had them yes.”

The pair shared a look, gauging the reaction of the other. Moira spoke first. “I don’t think you’ll have any problems fitting in here,” she purred. Her long hairs reached up to card through his hair, paying particular attention to the back of his head. “Now…I will heal up your arm…and then we’ll have a nice little chat about what comes next.”

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Damn Raccoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. I've got another update! I needed something to distract me from bad stuff happening in my personal life right now, so I wrote some sad stuff for you guys.   
> As a side note, I know some of you were asking if this was going to turn into or have Doomzo (DoomfistxHanzo) in it due to an earlier chapter. It was not my attention to bait anyone into thinking that. While I appreciate some of the art that floats around tumblr, I don't really ship Doomzo. My views on Akande and Hanzo are more that they are equal tacticians on the battlefield, and they can admit the other is smart and strong. So there will not be any Doomzo in this fic. That being said, since I'm not completely against the ship and find it almost amusing, if you send prompts to my tumblr, I might write you something short. (I really need some distractions right now). ((Honestly this goes for most overwatch ships)) (((Send me stuff please))) ((((or just talk to me :C)))) https://sovereign-tea.tumblr.com/  
> I appreciate all the kudos and comments that are being left on this fic. Although I haven't replied to them, I do want you all to know I read each and every comment, and your pain and suffering over these two fills me with a sadistic glee. Just make sure you're balancing out your sad with some happy fics too. :)

People didn’t just disappear. Jack knew that from years and years with this job. In this day in age, people left digital footprints wherever they went—or even paper trails if they wanted to be harder to find. It was damn near impossible to live without that plastic card swiping to get drinks, food, even a room at a shady motel. All of these things Overwatch was monitoring. The moment that black card of Hanzo’s was swiped they would know his exact location.

And yet here he was, sitting at his desk some time close to midnight, three days after Hanzo left, looking over all the data Winston and Athena had been able to pull together about Hanzo over the past couple months. What he found was…nothing. As Jack looked over the heaps of numbers, crunched into easier to handle fact by Athena, he was finding himself lost in data that meant _nothing_. The man’s history was known; Genji had been forth coming and so had Hanzo to some extent about their dealings with the yakuza through the Shimada clan. Hanzo had been less eager to share about his history, but he disclosed enough to Jack that the commander felt his team would be safe to work with him. Had he made a mistake? He scoured through transactions Hanzo made online and in stores with his credit card—as few as there were. Everything was so…mundane. Tea had been his latest purchase, made only the day before he ran off. For someone so secretive, he sure had nothing to hide it would seem. Athena had even scanned some of the electronic personal devices the archer had left behind in his haste, other than a noted love of dogs—which surprised Jack honestly—nothing in his browsing history even hinted at where he might go. Reinhardt had suggested perhaps he went back to Hanamura, but Genji had quickly shot down that idea.

Where that left Jack after days of sifting through information was right where he started. The commander sat at his desk, glasses on and reflecting the blue screen of his computer as he flipped through page after digital page. The hour was late but he couldn’t sleep per the usual. He was loathe to continue taking medication for sleep, less he get addicted, and how could he sleep? Not after seeing McCree earlier.

Jack had been going up to the room Hanzo and Jesse shared, to tell the sharpshooter yet another day had passed and Hanzo’s credit card had yet to be used, but when Jesse opened the door…His face had been so eerily similar to Jack’s from long ago. Dark circles under his eyes, a dirty shirt, and a deep set frown. It was like a mirror of himself after he lost Gabe in Switzerland. The realization shook the commander to his very core. Jesse had greeted him with a bland tone but a hopeful smile that instantly shattered when Jack shared the non-eventful news. Jack had been the very same when he had woken up after the explosion at Overwatch HQ. Nobody had wanted to tell him anything—nothing to rile him, they had said—but after learning of Gabe’s disappearance, anytime anyone approached him Jack would puff up with hope of news about Gabe, only to be disappointed time and time again.

          _“See you in Hell Morrison.”_

He had waited every day in that hospital in Switzerland, hoping by some stroke of luck that Gabriel had made it out of the building alive, that the explosion, the collapse of the build— _everything­­­—_ had been some vivid nightmare. The day he got the news had been the worst of his life. He could clearly recall dawning his blue uniform with Angela’s help, happy that he wouldn’t have to suffer through another day of hospital food, when one of his superiors came into his private room with something cradled in his hands.

          _“Commander Morrison…I have bad news.”_

The superior—who’s name Jack had long since forgotten—pressed something metal into Jack’s hands, and the moment he had realized what the object was his legs buckled. Gabe’s dog tags.

          _“We found them in the rubble, but no body. I’m sorry Commander but…we’re presuming Gabriel Reyes is dead.”_

Jack didn’t think Hanzo was dead, but what Jesse was feeling right then and now was not an unknown feeling to the commander. Gabriel, despite his short comings, had been the love of his life. To have him there one day and gone the next…it left a painful void that nothing had ever filled. As Jack sat there that night, pushing himself to read into the data before him, he couldn’t help but feel determined on Jesse’s behalf. He had known him as a young man, fresh out of Deadlock and wild as hell. Seeing him after a decade of staying under the radar, Jack had been pleased to see he turned into a rather relaxed and talented man.

_Gabriel would have been proud._

That brought him to another unfortunate predicament. Not only had he, Jesse, and many other ex-Overwatch agents been hiding and laying low for a decade, but so had Hanzo. While Jesse and Jack had been able to find odd jobs and blend in rather well to their surroundings, Hanzo had to completely adapt to hiding from a clan he betrayed—who, if they found him, would kill him. No judge, jury, or trial. The mere fact he had been able to keep himself hidden until Genji happened upon him was beyond astounding. Somehow, the once heir to the Shimada had not only robbed his ex-clan of a small fortune, but was able to use that money to hop from country to country, keeping himself afloat for years without being so much as seen by the Shimada. And _that_ would make Overwatch’s job of finding him that much more difficult. The archer was difficult to find at the best of time on base—just to summon him for meetings and communal meals and the like. To find him when he wished to remain anonymous? That was going to be a feat.

With a sigh, Jack leaned back in his desk chair, the squeak of its gears and parts filling the silence of his office. He took off his glasses briefly to rub between his eyes before replacing them. Winston had told him to get some sleep hours ago but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave the work unfinished. He couldn’t have an agent moping and another one gone rogue.

It was times like this he missed Gabe. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the loud clunk of those heavy Blackwatch boots making their way across the office floor, smell the spiced cologne rolling off a man trying to cover the smell of cigar smoke, hear the gravel-like chuckle as he approached the commander’s chair.

          _“Why are you up so late mi sol? Get that ass to bed.”_

The vision was so crisp that Jack could almost feel him standing beside his desk chair. But of course, the day dream was just that.

A feeling of helplessness was starting to wash over him. His hand trembled as he flicked a finger across the touch screen of his computer to bring up the next file. Jesse was counting on him to bring his fiancé home—he couldn’t let him down.

          _“You’re doing too much Jack. You’re only human.”_

Only human indeed. His fingers fumbled with his shirt, pulling at a metal beaded strand that rested between his chest and the fabric. He pulled it out of his collar and ran his fingers delicately across the metal.

_Reyes, Gabriel_

Jack knew the identification code and his blood type on the metal tag by heart. The metal dog tags had never left his person since they were handed to him by that Overwatch agent in that hospital all those years ago. They were all the personal effects that Jack had to remember him by—for when he had been able to return to Gabe’s room at base, it had been turned upside down by investigators of the bombing. All his personal effects had been confiscated as evidence, leaving the room obscenely baron and lifeless. In the years following the bombing, he had come to terms in his heart that it was Gabe who brought the building down—along with the last of Overwatch’s reputation. But even admitting this to himself didn’t make him miss the man less.

The commander replaced the dog tags back down the neck of his shirt and went back to reading. Hanzo disappeared into thin air. If would be one thing to track him if they were on an island—because he would most likely have to pay to use a boat to shore. But being on the European continent, Hanzo could travel by any means of transportation and be in any country within a matter of hours, let alone days. Hanzo Shimada could be anywhere in the world by now.

          “But how has he gotten anywhere and not used any form of identification yet?” Jack pondered aloud.

          _“Perhaps Agent Shimada had assistance,”_ came Athena’s voice.

If Jack hadn’t been used to her poking in her nose into his business constantly, he might have been startled by her. “Assistance? Does he have ties outside Overwatch still?” As far as they were aware, Hanzo had cut all ties with every surviving member of his clan. And it wasn’t like the archer made friends easily.

          _“Perhaps it is nothing,_ ” _the AI began,_ _“but I found a security tape from a toll road leading out of Spain from the day Hanzo went missing. There’s a car with a fake license plate heading into France.”_ Athena took over one of the TV monitors mounted on the wall of his office. A picture of a sleek looking black car with tinted windows appeared on the screen. _“I only bring it up because the license plate does not match the identification number of the car, and the tinted windows are a little suspect._ ”

Jack squinted at the screen, taking in the features of the car, trying—in vain—to make out a driver. “Any idea on who’s driving? Or where they’re headed?”

 _“I have been unable to find any clear shot containing the contents and occupants of the car. Hold on…_ ” There was silence as Athena did a quick dip into more online files. _“It appears the police have impounded the car in Marseille. They found it abandon on a side street.”_

          “That is more than suspect. Do you think…?”

          _“That Agent Shimada was inside? I can only speculate the same as you in this scenario Commander._ ”

Jack ran his hands through his silver hair with a sigh. This could be the biggest lead they had in Hanzo’s disappearance, or it could be a wild goose-chase. “See if you can find any other traffic photos, video, what have you close to where the car ended up. If we can get a look at who was driving or if Hanzo was inside…At least we’ll know he isn’t in Spain anymore.”

          _“Will do Commander.”_

The old man sighed as he heard Athena vanish to do work. He of course would have to let Jesse know they _may_ have found a lead. But what if it was nothing? Oh, the kid would be devastated. He stood with a creak from his desk. There was no more use pondering it tonight; nothing more could be done until Athena finished scanning a whole lot of data. It was time for Jack Morrison to finally get some sleep.

* * *

 

It had been three weeks since Athena had mentioned the car leaving Spain, and yet the AI couldn’t find any sign of the occupants. Suspiciously, the one camera that would have seen the driver and possible passengers dump the car in France was out of order, displaying an image of a pin up woman from a trashy magazine instead. That had almost confirmed for Jack that more than something was amiss, but he truly had no evidence to show for his efforts. Jesse had become more depressed than ever, taking to moping around the base with a bottle of whiskey in hand. Genji was still determined to find Hanzo, but even he seemed to have a dying fire inside of him. It was already the middle of November, and with the holidays just around the corner, missing one of the crew really hit the team harder than ever.

One morning towards the middle of the month, Jack awoke to a pounding on the doors to his quarters. The sun had scarcely risen and begun spilling through his windows when he was being summoned by what sounded like an eager guest. Jack groaned angrily; there wasn’t much he hated more than cold mornings.

          “Hold your horses,” he growled out, making the knocking cease. He crawled out of bed with a groan and a hobble before righting himself. He threw on the pants he had laying on the floor from the night before and a black shirt that was slung over his TV recliner. When the door swished open in front of him, it revealed his visitor as none other than Mei. An odd guest at an odd hour. She was still in her PJs, just with her white lab coat thrown on. Her hair was half falling out of its normal bun. Her appearance gave the commander the impression she had fallen asleep last night in the lab. “Mei?”

She bowed several times to him in apology. “I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep, but Jack!” there was a sparkle of hope in her eye that caught his attention, “there is someone here for you.”

          “A visitor…? Who…?” Jack had few friends, and none outside of Overwatch knew his current location.

Mei shifted uneasily. “Er, well, she wanted to speak to McCree…but when she said why she wanted with him, I figured you may want to speak to her first. She’s near the security gate by my lab.”

That had him on alert. He filed out into the hallway with Mei after kicking on some shoes, then gestured for her to lead the way. He lived on the bottom most floor of the living quarters so he wouldn’t be hindered in getting to the other buildings quicker by an elevator or the stairs. The scientist led him out of the living quarters and through the lounge area where Jesse and Hanzo had their fight. Neither spoke as they exited the building into the damp cold of the day and across the lawns. Mei led him through base, past many curious bystanders, until she reached one of the various security gates that guarded the supply routes they had into their Gibraltar base. As he approached he could see one of his recruits standing with an old woman, offering her his chair he had set up, only to be politely waved away.

It was only when he got closer that he recognized her as an old Overwatch agent. She was in a large pink coat and sweat pants…and fuzzy pink slippers. “Agent Miller?”

The woman perked up at his voice. “Jack? Jack Morrison? My! What a surprise! Here I come asking for the cowboy, and instead I summon a ghost!”

Jack couldn’t help the small smile that quirked his lips. Jesse and Hanzo had both talked rather fondly of an old Overwatch agent that lived in town selling tea-he could only assume this was her. She had a car waiting on the other side of the fence with a man inside waiting for her while she was craned over a walker. Perched atop the walker was a large purse. “What brings you up here?” he asked cautiously. The woman looked frail, almost unable to stand.

          “I had surgery recently, so please excuse my appearance,” she began. “As such, I’ve been out of commission from my normal duties at the tea shop…So I took it upon myself to be the security guard!”

Jack rolled his eyes almost playfully, which had Mei giggling with surprise. “Why am I not surprised?”

Ms. Miller waved off his comment. “But! I was reviewing my security cameras one morning—we’ve had a nasty raccoon making a mess in behind the store, and I hoped to catch sight of it—when I saw something…startling.” From her purse she pulled a flash drive. “I was hoping Jesse could make sense of it…or Hanzo, if he’s here.”

The commander frowned, but he took the offered flash drive cautiously. “Hanzo is…”

The woman sighed. “I see. Missing huh?”

Jack and Mei’s eyes went wide. “How did you know?” Mei asked curiously.

          “It would be easier if you just watched the tapes,” she commented back cryptically. “I’m not sure what exactly happened but…If he’s missing like I assumed he is, than this might help you track him down.”

The commander nodded. “I…shall review it and contact you if needed.”   

As the security guard helped the tea shop owner back to her car, Mei joined Jack, marching back across base until they arrived at one of the of the conference rooms. Using Athena, he summoned Winston and Angela to the small warm room. Jack sat at the end of the long wooden table, the computer system laid out in front of him. Angela and Winston arrived promptly, Angela already looking like she had put in some work that morning, Winston coming still in his pajamas. They gave good mornings to one another—Angela’s crisp and peppy, Winston’s groggy—and each took up a curious seat.

          “You’re not usually one with the early summons to meetings Jack,” Winston noted.

Angela raised her eyebrow at the flash drive as he inserted the nub into a USB port. “A USB? What’s on it?” she asked as Athena ran a virus check.

Once the all clear was given, several files appeared in a single folder labeled “Security tapes”. Each file was titled with a series of numbers followed by a date—no doubt the day the video was made.

Winston adjusted his glasses as his eyes scanned the files. “Security footage? From where?”

          “That tea shop in town,” Jack said. He flipped through a few. Sure enough, there was that raccoon.

Angela suddenly jumped up, slamming her hands on the table, pointing at a file. “Wait! That one! That’s the day before Jesse came home! Click it.” Jack looked at her oddly, forcing her to elaborate. “Hanzo came to me with a broken arm that day after being in town _buying tea_. I had a feeling he didn’t break it falling off his motorcycle as he claimed…maybe…?”

Jack clicked on the file and waiting for the day of security footage to load. With a gentle hand he fast forwarded through the early morning and early afternoon, only noting the arrival of a delivery truck and a couple birds. Then all the sudden…

Winston gave a growl as a familiar man was seen entering the alleyway. “Is that Doom Fist?!”

Sure enough, the bulky man could be seen disappearing down the alleyway. Not too much longer than that they could see Hanzo appear within range of the cameras.

          “Hanzo!” Mei gasped.

The four of them watched in muted worry as Hanzo cautiously wandered down the narrow alley, only to see Doom Fist lash out. Angela clicked her tongue when she saw Hanzo blocking Akande’s blow with his arm.

          “So that was how…”

They watched as Doom Fist roughed Hanzo up, unable to hear any dialogue between them, before Doom Fist left. Hanzo got up, staggering out of the alleyway and from view.

Winston motioned to the next file. “That is the day Hanzo ran off…”

Clicking that revealed a second, very puzzling, part of the story. They watched as Hanzo appeared, in a terrible state and almost drunkenly walking, before sliding down the wall of the alleyway. It wasn’t too long after that Doom Fist appeared, as did a black car—

          _“Commander,”_ Athena cut in, _“that is the same black car that was dumped in Marseille.”_

          “So I was right…” he growled to himself. His gut had been right after all.

The group watched in horror as Doom Fist helped Hanzo up and even opened the door for him.

Mei clapped a hand over her mouth while she shook her head in disbelief. “Did he just…go willingly?”

Angela’s face was grim. “So this wasn’t a random disappearance…he did have help.”

          “By why accept Doom Fist’s help?” Winston said, pushing back against Angela’s comment. “You saw them fighting in the other video. That couldn’t have been scripted…why suddenly go with him?”

Jack watched the looped footage of Hanzo slipping into the car, and Doom Fist’s smirk as the door closed. A chill ran down his spine. Talon didn’t take unnecessary risks. Everything they did was planned out, every T crossed, every I dotted. He paused it on a picture of Doom Fist going around to get into the car himself and stared at the curve of the man’s mouth. Self-assured. Satisfied. A plan coming to fruition. The man ran a hand through his silver hair. His thoughts strayed to a folder on his desk, buried by months of other work that seemed more pressing. A folder that was packed with information on Japan, a folder that contained reports on the Hanamura mission by McCree and Hanzo.

_There’s no way…_

          “For the time being,” he said in a low tone, “we are not telling Jesse about these tapes.”

This news startled everyone. “But why?” Mei asked. “Commander, he’s _devastated_. This could lift his spirits—“

Angela shook her head. “No, Jack is right,” she admitted. “We just saw Hanzo willingly get into a vehicle with a known talon agent. If Jesse knew that…who knows what that could do to him.”

          “Although its no consolation, at least we know _who_ has him,” Winston pointed out.

          “But the trouble now becomes where is he?” Jack sighed, leaning back in his chair.

          _“Talon has a few cities where they are known to do more business in,”_ Athena chimed in. _“I shall start running through cameras and such in these cities. Perhaps I could spot Agent Shimada.”_

          “Please get on that quickly Ath—“

          _“Commander, it appears there have been talon sightings by agents posted in the King’s Row sector of England,” the AI said abruptly. “They’re asking for a dispatch of a unit.”_

Jack growled, pushing himself up from his chair. _When it rains it pours_ , he thought to himself. “Alright. Summon Reinhardt, Tracer, Zenyatta, McCree, and Genji. Tell them to meet me on the hanger in two hours and that we’re headed north.”

          “You’re going too Commander?” Mei asked.

          “Yes. If we capture any Talon agents, I’m going to see if they’ll give up any information on Shimada,” he said.

_I hope my theory isn’t right..._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. First Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. Another update for you all! Sorry if this one took a bit. I've been so depressed recently I've found it hard to do much of anything but go to work. We had to put down my dog the other week, and I love my fur baby more than anything in the world so it's been...rough. But, here I am. I hope you all enjoy this. 
> 
> Your comments fuel me by the way.

The transport landed in a private helipad not too long after the summons for the team of six went out. They landed in rainy conditions—but thankfully it was only a sort of mist. Not a star could be seen as the group exited the transport, the sky obscured by dark clouds promising heavy rain, not to mention the tall buildings around them.

King’s Row was a world-renowned metropolis, a mixing pot of human and omnic, of history and technology, of industry and fashion. Visiting monks from Tibet could be seen walking aside teens coming out of punk concerts, scholars could be seen drinking in any one of the numerous taverns with military recruits. It was a city that had a little something for everyone—so a man wearing a serape and cowboy gear didn’t stand out any more than a man wearing old Crusader armor. As they exited the Overwatch owned building which had the helipad on the roof and out onto the street, despite the evening being of a rather late hour, the city was still operating as if it were noon. Lena led the way with a cheerful swing in her step, chattering a mile a minute about visiting her girlfriend before they left. Reinhardt and Zenyatta both commented that it would be nice to see her again, but neither Genji nor Jesse shared in the happy mood. There was only one person they wanted to be reunited with. Jack remained quiet as usual, his mind still tossing over how Talon could have infiltrated the city, and for what purpose. The last time the organization had been sighted in King’s Row was when their sniper assassinated Mondatta. With Overwatch back in action and the animosity towards Talon over the death of the omnic monk leader, Talon had avoided the area entirely—sure that their assassination target’s death was more important than their popularity in the metropolis.

Their scouts were operating out of a hotel along Main Street—a twisting winding road dotted with shops for books, candles, toys, and more. Cars zipped down the faux-cobblestone roadways, hovering just above the surface but enough to send water splashing from the puddles that had gathered. Jesse couldn’t say he was all too impressed with the city; he had been there plenty of times, and it wasn’t as though he didn’t marvel at the innovation and technology all around him, but there was something to be said about places that had a bit of green to them. Growing up with the plains around him and wide open skies made him almost feel boxed in when the buildings shot up too high and obscured the clouds and stars. Hanzo hadn’t felt the same. His fiancé liked being up high and have plenty places to duck and pop out from—probably something common with snipers and archers, Jesse reasoned. He and Hanzo had been to King’s Row before, both for pleasure and business, and Hanzo had always commented how impressed he was at everything, and how beautiful the city was at night lit up.

 _You would love it now, Han_. Jesse thought to himself. The winter season was drawing close, and many of the shops were already decorating with multicolored lights around their rooves and windows, as well as putting holiday displays in the windows. The cowboy nearly lost count of how many nut crackers, ballerinas, drummer boys, and santas he passed by, displayed in windows with fake snow at their feet. Even the air smelled like the upcoming holidays as candy shops began roasting nuts and making chocolate, and bakers were rolling out pie after pie with sweet rolls and breads in between.

But none of this warmed Jesse’s heart like it should. Normally he was one of the jolliest men on the base as soon as Halloween was over. The American cowboy would merrily skip around talking of the upcoming turkey day, and then after that it was putting up Christmas decorations and watching old films for hours on end in between missions. Hanzo had been cautious about these holidays at first, but took to them easily enough when he saw how blissfully happy they made his lover. Now seeing and smelling the signs of the upcoming festivities only filled Jesse with loneliness.

There had been no sign of Hanzo anywhere, and the fact that he simply disappeared without a trace had Jesse’s stomach in constant knots. Was he merely hiding? Or was he dead? Neither option was very pleasant, but Jesse would at least rather him be alive with the chance of returning to him.

The group stopped outside the hotel with a gesture from Jack. “Reinhardt, you’ll be with me while I meet with the scouts. Lena and Zenyatta, go look around the block, make sure it’s secure. Genji and Jesse, go set up a next block perimeter.” The old man glanced up at the dark sky with a frown that everyone knew was there despite the visor and mask. “Rain is in the forecast tonight, so be careful climbing shit. Meet back here in two hours. If there is any important shit I need to tell you, I’ll com you—so have them _on_ ,” he snapped.

Genji turned slightly to McCree and spoke through his closed visor. “I saw a warehouse up the road. We should check it out. Might prove to be a good spot to hole up for recon.”

They each clicked their coms on and headed out in their pairs. Jesse and Genji walked in silence up the street, shoulder to metal shoulder. They hadn’t talked much since the day Hanzo went missing because frankly, Genji still blamed him for what transpired. And McCree couldn’t disagree. But with their history…all the emotions were a muddled mess. They had been through so much together in Blackwatch, but Genji had an even longer history with his brother. So silence was the easiest route.

Jesse knew exactly what warehouse Genji had been referring to, mainly because he had felt similarly about it when he had seen it from above during landing. Within a couple minutes of walking through the crowded streets they had made their way to a less congested area off the beaten path. The edifice of the building was made of red brick with a large black roll-up door to allow cars in and out. This was one of the few areas of the city that still had patches of grass surrounding it in sad little clumps. There were rows of windows up higher along with a fire escape on the side of the building. Buildings sat on either side of the warehouse, but nothing in this particular area looked very used. The noises of the city seemed distant on this side road, and since the neighboring buildings were much shorter than the warehouse, it gave the men an unobstructed look at the rain clouds looming overhead.

Sneaking around the side of the building showed them shattered and boarded up windows, evidence the warehouse had been abandon for some time. Spiders, like guardians of the brick façade, had made large webs in the corners of the panes which added to the creepy vibe of the building. However…

Genji reached out and tugged on Jesse’s serape. His metal finger silently jabbed towards the thin dirt trail beneath their feet. Footprints.

          “We are not alone,” he stated in a low slightly mechanical voice.

Jesse tipped his hat up slightly with his thumb while his eyes scanned the alleyway they were in beside the building. From his waist he pulled Peacekeeper while Genji slid a shuriken from his wrist. The duo followed the tracks to the back door, only to find the handle hanging limply and the latch for the lock broken in with the door ajar. They each glanced at the other before Jesse took the initiative to press a hand to the broken wood and push it in. The door opened with a clatter as splinters fell to the concrete floor. Beyond was dark, lit only by a handful of old and flickering emergency light. Jesse and Genji slowly made their way inside, keeping close to the walls with their weapons at the ready. Anything could be living in his place, from rats to people, and it would be no good to startle either.

Right beyond the door was a small room containing rumble and debris of what looked like an old breakroom. The men carefully stepped over the mess on the floor and continued through a doorway at the back of the room. Once through the doorway the building opened up in a large room. Piles of metal and wooden crates were stacked tall all around, some still sitting on the front end of the forklifts that had been moving them. Metal chains hung from ceilings with no clear indication what they were for, as well as net material. Tool and machinery lined the walls, each gear and lever covered in thick layers of dust. Along the wall at nearly the top of the wall was a metal catwalk that ran along the perimeter of the room before heading into another room on the other side of the warehouse. Closer to the other room there were shelving units set up with empty glass beakers of various sizes lining them—although a lot of the glass bottles had fallen to the ground and shattered, making a mess.

          “Y’ see anythin’ Genji?” Jesse whispered.

Genji was using his night-vision of his visor to cut through the darkness. “I don’t—“

Then, through the silence, there was a jingle. Jesse and Genji both stilled, ears straining in the silence and the dark to catch the sound again. What had it been? A scamper of a rat? Then again. Jesse glanced up to see one of the large chains hanging from the metal ceiling was swaying slightly. His eyes squinted through the dark at the metal. There was no wind blowing through the warehouse—in fact, the air was quite stale.

          “Probably only a rat,” he muttered to Genji.

They continued pressing further into the warehouse, towards the small room beyond the large one filled with machinery. Just as they were about to enter the other room—which appeared to be storage—Genji reached out to still Jesse. The cowboy froze. He was acutely aware of how still his partner was behind him, as if every part of him was straining to sense something.

          “A large rat,” he finally stated.

Just as Jesse was un-tensing, Genji released him. Several things happened at once. As Jesse stumbled forward, he turned to look at Genji who was spinning on the ball of his foot to redirect his attention to their backside. Shuriken clinked down from up in his forearm to the slots between his knuckles, allowing his fingers to gracefully maneuver them to a position in which he could throw them. Jesse could see the bright neon glow of Genji’s sensors in the dark as he shifted from stealth to combat. There was a light metallic sound as Genji’s shuriken hit a piece of large equipment and fell to the concrete floor. Another group of the throwing stars found their way down to Genji’s hands.

          “Genji wha—“

          “ _Oh_ so you have night vision too? _Scary_ ,” came a teasing voice from the darkness.

A couple feet away, Jesse could see a brief moment of distortion underneath one of the security lights before suddenly someone appeared as if my magic. But Jesse McCree was no fool. A girl of a slender frame stood before them, dressed in a black and purple trench coat and leggings. The side of her head was shaved while the rest of her black and purple hair was tipped to the one side, revealing rows of computer-like wires. In one arm she had several rolls of large blue papers that looked like they had been feasted upon by rats—blueprints no doubt. She wiggled long acrylic nails by way of greeting, but it did nothing to ease the tension that now filled the room.

Jesse took aim with Peacekeeper. He knew who this was—had seen Overwatch’s file on her. The Talon master Hacker: Sombra. Her presence in the warehouse meant that the scouts had been right; Talon had moved into King’s Row. With a bit of considering, the cowboy figured she must have slid down one of the chains above them while under stealth—thus causing the noise.

          “So Talon is here,” Jesse stated.

The girl clicked her tongue. “Of course _vaquero_ ,” she snorted. “We never left. I just came to collect something for the good doctor—“

          “You will not be going anywhere,” Genji stated, at the ready to launch himself at her. “Hand over those papers.”

Sombra shook her head. “Can’t do that. Boss will have my head if I don’t bring these back.” She took a step back, looking like she was going to bolt at any moment, or disappear again back into the darkness like a phantom.

Jesse clicked back the safety on his gun at the same time Genji rushed forward to engage. Genji flicked his wrist, throwing the stars followed by a movement of grabbing for the katana strapped to his back. But through the noise of movement—the swish of Jesse’s serape, the jostling of the blueprints in Sombra’s hand, the metal shifting of Genji’s body as he attacked—there was a whistle. The sound of something shooting through the air quickly, and in this case, with deadly accuracy. Jesse could just barely hear it over the scuffles of their movement, but the noise filled him with a sort of familiarity. Genji stopped abruptly in his tracks, hand still in the motion of pulling his blade.

His shuriken—which had been aim at Sombra’s head—were on the ground between the two of them…

With an arrow in their midst.

Sombra was all smiles. “My hero!” she called out.

Genji’s visor flew up, revealing eyes large with surprise. Jesse had been slow to realize what had happened, but when he saw that arrow stuck in the concrete, he immediately looked up the catwalk that ran along above them, his heart in his throat and thumping loudly. Towards the fire escape exit, a figure could been seen, standing, bow in hand, another arrow notched and aimed down towards them. The security lights were not as revealing up top, but instead cast harsh lights over the person. They weren’t very tall, but they still had fairly broad shoulders and a trim waist. Black hair trailed down past their shoulders like spilled ink while their face was framed my tuffs of silver—showing their age. The scowl was the same as it had always been, and those eyes looked like a hawk on the hunt--like they always were on the battlefield. The only thing different was the black talon uniform that covered him instead of his kyudo-gi, and what looked like a strap of leather across his throat.

          “Quit provoking them, the transport is waiting.” His voice was even and deep, holding in it an achingly familiar no nonsense attitude that Jesse had found himself missing desperately as the days slunk along.

Jesse’s heart threatened to crawl through his clenched teeth. It was him. They had the same face, same voice…but why did he seem so different?

          “ _Anija_...?” Genji said, in scarcely above a whisper.

Hanzo’s eyes swept over the Overwatch agents will a coldness that sent a shiver down Jesse’s spine. What had happened to him? In their hesitation, Sombra was able to disappear back into the shadows and rush unseen up a nearby ladder to access the catwalk above. Genji went to move, to leap at where he could see her with his night vision, when another whistle cut through the air. An arrow had landed right in front of the ninja’s feet, halting him—a warning.

          “My next will not miss,” Hanzo stated.

Jesse stepped more forward while Hanzo was reloading his bow. “Han…what are you doing? We’re not your enemy—“ The archer’s eyes narrowed sharply as he swung his aim to point directly at McCree. Jesse paused cautiously. The look in Hanzo’s eyes told him he _would_ shoot again. But against his better judgement, he continued to talk. “Darlin’…please, we’ve been lookin’ everywhere fer y’. Come home…I miss—“

          “Don’t,” the man replied, monotone despite the almost angry furrows that had appeared between his eyes. Jesse froze. The way Hanzo said that word…it was a clear mockery of Jesse from their fight. It made the gunslinger’s stomach twist. “I have not forgotten your words to me.”

By then Sombra had appeared at his side. Balancing her blueprints in one arm, she ran a long nail over the leather strap around Hanzo’s neck. Jesse watched, horrified, as Hanzo didn’t smack her away—something he would have done to anyone else in Overwatch aside from Jesse or Genji.

          “Will you kill them?” Sombra asked in a sing-song voice.

There was a flicker in Hanzo’s eyes as he held his aim, his fingers twitching slightly as his muscle memory told him to release the arrow. But the bow lowered. “No.” It could have been Jesse’s imagination, but he could have sworn he heard Hanzo’s voice tremble in time with his hands. The harsh look in his gaze was at odds with the sound of his voice.

Sombra clicked her tongue again as her eyes ran up him. Her finger’s pushed back his hair slightly, revealing a spot where a quarter sized square of hair was missing close to his temples behind the grey spots. “Hm. Interesting.”

          “Come,” Hanzo growled at her, finally swatting her curious hands away, “the transport—“

          “Hanzo wait—don’t leave!” Jesse called out.

The cowboy started toward the ladder to climb up, when a gunshot rang out from the other side of the room. Turning, Genji and Jesse could see five Talon agents, armed with automatic weapons had come through the busted in door and were coming towards them.

          “ _Hasta luego!”_ Sombra called out from above.

She and Hanzo disappeared through the fire escape door nearby. Jesse could only watch helplessly as his fiancé vanished from sight with a dangerous member of Talon leading him. The cowboy stood motionless, eyes glued to the closing door. He worried not about the grunts of pain and gunshots behind him as Genji went about subduing the terrorists with a fury he hadn’t seen in years. Instead, his mind replayed the encounter with Hanzo, again, and again, and again. Hanzo looked the same as he did weeks before, albeit a little sourer looking. But what had that leather strap been? And that shaved spot on the side of his head?

          “But why…”

It was a couple minutes later when he heard Genji curse low behind him. There was a click as Genji flipped on his com. “ _Soldier, McCree and I encountered Talon agents in the warehouse._ ”

A static like crackle came before the older man’s voice. “ _So it’s true then. Are you still in combat?_ ”

          “ _Negative,_ ” Genji answered as he kicked the last gun away from a dead Talon agent. By his footsteps, Jesse could tell he was returning to his side. “ _We encountered Sombra…and my brother._ ”

Genji’s conversation with Jack was merely a hum in the back of Jesse’s mind. A nausea was washing over the cowboy in waves. He had done this. He had turned Hanzo into an agent of Talon. He had made Hanzo feel so unloved he had left home. All of this came crashing down on Jesse, bringing the gunslinger to his knees.

          “Jesse—“

He knew his friend’s hands were on him, trying to make sure he was okay, but he did not acknowledge him. Hanzo, who had been struggling for so long to rise up above his past, to become a better person, had tossed it all away, turning to a terrorist organization.

And it was all Jesse’s fault.  

In the time it took the rest of the team to enter the warehouse it had begun to rain heavily, some of the rain splashing in through the broken panes of glass of the warehouse. It was Jack who came through the back door first, and was the first to see Genji holding onto Jesse as he cried brokenly.

* * *

 

          “ _God dammit!”_

Sombra watched as Hanzo slammed his fist against one of the inner walls of the transport. They were just exiting the King’s Row airspace, flying through the storm that had gathered. The archer had tossed aside his quiver and bow upon entering and had immediately stumbled into the nearby wall. His breathing was labored and his shoulder were shaking. Sweat beaded on his brown and slid down his temples.

Moira had warned Sombra of this possibility.

          “Hey, hey,” Sombra said cautiously as she approached.

          “It hurts—“ he groaned, a hand coming up to rest on the shaved square where the implant had been made. “It feels like it’s burning—“

Sombra frown. “Don’t mess with it. Moira told you—“

          “Your _doctor_ said it was a simple pick up mission,” he growled, turning suddenly hostile. Sombra had went to take a step back when the archer gave a pained grunt and went back to gripping his head—distracted for the moment.

          “She told you it would take time. You _just_ got it done,” Sombra explained. “If you weren’t such an unknown variable, perhaps she would have held off on it.” From a nearby cabinet, the hacker rummaged around before pulling out a bottle of pills. She emptied two out into her hand before returning to the archer. “Here, take these. Amelie said these used to help her.”

Hanzo glared at her, but he took the offered pills. They went down as smoothly as they could without water, and slowly the sharp pains were dulling into an annoying throb, like the onset of a headache. He had known the risks when Moira did the implant. But she had said it would help him override some of the attachment he would feel towards Overwatch—make his job easier. _The easiest way—although there are plenty of others_ , had been her exact words. As he progressed more into a more reliable Talon fighter, he had been warned there would be additional body modifications that would occur, and the implant would be the least painful with the shortest recovery time.

Hanzo found himself recalling the face of the cowboy gazing up at him from the ground floor in the warehouse. How surprised he had been to see Hanzo again. Sombra had left to go into another room to report to her superiors, leaving Hanzo to slowly slide down to the floor with his back against the wall, waiting for the pills to full kick in. From underneath his Talon armor, he pulled out a silver chain. On it dangled the engagement ring Jesse had given him what seemed like a lifetime ago. The thought had occurred to him when he ran away that he should send it back to the man—since he had no idea of returning to Overwatch, but he couldn’t bear the thought of parting with it.

A ripple of head pulsed out from the implant, making Hanzo grit his teeth.

_Anything to forget you._

_Anything._

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might add more notes later, but its past 1:30am...and I'm tired.

The doctor’s lab reminded Gabe of a museum. Always being added to, adjusted, but maintaining the same eerie vibe that it had throughout the years regardless of location. Every piece of equipment, from the larger laser mechanisms down to the smallest beaker held a sort of quirkiness in it that tied the entire area together—as if the chaos were actually a symphony, if only to the conductor.

Not just the items themselves, but the entire set up brought Gabriel back years. He could recall meeting with Moira for the first time after, and shortly after adopting her into Blackwatch. She had been much the same as she was now; tall, pale, dual colored eyes, and a sinister sneer of a smile. There was an uneasy nostalgia that came with the atmosphere that he hadn’t been able to shake. He had spent too many post ops sitting in a chair too similar to this, having glass picked from wounds, having alcohol soaked cotton swabs dabbed on him, and having needles dug under his skin to administer unknown substances.

                ‘ _Here, you want to hold my hand?’_

He could imagine those soft blue eyes, square jaw, and mop of sunshine golden hair…even after all this time. The only visitor he had ever wanted.

Gabriel Reyes sat in a chair under a harsh ring light, bare chested, his head tilted back against the examination chair, eyes pressed shut. The furrows between his brows were deep like canyons, showing just how much the probing metal tools into the dark, shadowy matter that was currently his forearm hurt. But he made no sound as Moira dug the tool around mercilessly. It was like this after every mission. He would scarcely touch down on the tarmac before he was being summoned to her lair for analysis. The doctor never hinted at what she was looking for in the murk that was his shadowy form, but Gabriel could only fathom it was some sort of side effect she knew was a possibility but didn’t want to fret him about.

It had been well over ten years since the first experiments had given him the ability to regenerate his cells, if only to something less human, and by now he had grown accustom to it. The power to manipulate his once sick cells had been a thrill at first, allowing him to enter places silently like Death itself, and granting him near invulnerability on the battlefield. Mere mortals could not touch him as he worked first against terrorists in Blackwatch, then as a gun for hire after Overwatch’s fall. However…sometimes he would wake in the dead of night, finding his torso only half skin, the rest appearing like black snow, melting down onto the sheets. Where his cells could be build up super quick to heal wounds in a blink, his cells would also fall into quick decay.

But this was the price he would pay for his mistakes.

And for trusting a woman who thought herself above a god.

Moira, who had been craned over in her seat, inspecting the darkness of his arm, sat back with a sigh. She took of her working goggles—that helped magnify down much closer than reading glasses would—and sat them on the metal cart to her left, along with the other tools she had been harassing Gabe with.

                “Decay and regeneration seem to be working as expected,” she reported. “Reaper status looks…managed.”

Gabriel stood up and grabbed for his talon uniform shirt and tugging it over his scarred torso. There was no love between him and Moira despite their familiarity, so he pulled his sleeves down and got ready to leave.

When the door opened.

The electronic door hissed open, and in walked their newest addition—the elder Shimada brother. He certainly looked worse for wear. The dark circles under his eyes had only been getting worse and worse since his arrival, and he looked gaunter in his cheeks than he had previously. The boy—at least, Gabriel considered him such—had his long black hair tied back in a way the disguised the small shaved patch where the implant went. The black talon uniform clung to his thin waist and muscular chest, and would have looked good if not for the slight slouch he had.

Moira quirked a brow at her unexpected guest, and in return he gave a bow. “Excuse my intrusion.” Gabriel couldn’t help but be drawn into his polite way of speaking. The tone and rhythm of his speech reminded him of that hellion brother of his back in the day. Although Genji was usually cursing, not apologizing. At least at first anyway. “I did not know you had a patient, Doctor.”

 _Dedicated._ That much Gabe could tell about the new recruit based on the reports. The word came up again and again in the accounts from his underlings and coworkers. Hanzo Shimada, Overwatch traitor, was dedicated. Robotic, but good at taking commands and executing them.

Sombra was the last one to fill in a report—dated two days prior following a successful return from England. Gabe had read Sombra’s report on Hanzo Shimada, and honestly, he hadn’t expected anything less. Ex yakuza and one of Jack’s pet soldiers? Of course he would be top of the line. Sombra noted his accuracy—both for hitting marks and for being able to pull a hit, his cool and collected behavior, but also an unwillingness or hesitance to engage with his brother and fiancé. For all of her draw backs and goof-off attitude, Sombra was rather apt at giving a to-the-point summary of the man. Reaper had been reading her report on his tablet while he had waited for Moira to get all her tools together only an hour before. It was a little sad to think one’s personality could be summed up in a couple hundred to a thousand words; whole life experiences and emotions, narrowed down to a few choice words to describe the true essence of their soul.

But he hadn’t read the assessment for poetry.

He needed to know if Hanzo could be trusted.

It had been weeks since the man had been picked up from the alleyway by Doomfist. He had been sent on a couple low-risk local missions, each one getting progressively more difficult, time consuming, and involving other operatives. Akande had written similar reports to Sombra. His however were drier than hers—his leaning more towards a business ledger, weighing Hanzo’s strengths, weaknesses, and a weight of risk to keep him on the team.

Everything pointed towards Hanzo being extremely capable.

                “You actually have impeccable timing, Mr. Shimada,” Moira commented. “Swap seats with the Agent Reyes. Your chip is due to get looked at.”

Gabe found the new recruit eyeing him uneasily. His fingers were twitching, probably wanting to loose an arrow on him. Jack had trained them to attack him on sight probably. Cute. But Hanzo obediently entered and took Gabe’s seat on the chair, tilting his head back to sit in the cradle of a headrest.

Moira had scarcely started looking him over when she gave a tired sigh. “You look deplorable.”

Golden eyes shifted away from her. His fingers absently mindedly soothed over the cracks in the leather that made of the chair’s arms. “My apologies. I have not been…feeling well. Which is why I came here—“

The doctor picked up a tiny flash flight and shined it in Hanzo eyes. Gabe stood a couple feet away, watching curiously. He hadn’t spoken to this Shimada yet, and he was more than curious about him. He had so many accounts from his own operatives about him, as well as memories of Genji’s stories from a decade prior. “You are not sleeping, I can tell that much without a doctorate,” she said dryly. “What plagues you?”

Hanzo’s lip quirked into a half snarl. “ _Everything_.” His voice was agitated and deeply stressed. It was the kind of tone someone used when all options had been spent, and they felt at the end of their rope. “I came to Talon because I had nothing left for me in Overwatch…and yet it is all I can think of. I try and busy my hands, and yet it does not distract me.” Fingers came up to where the scars ran over the implant, and he gave the square under his skin a tap. “ _This_ isn’t working.”

Moira crossed her arms. “Agent Shimada, I told you it would take time—“

                “Time? You told me the implant would control my emotions!” he snapped. “Not only is it causing me terrible headaches, but now it’s doing the opposite of what it should!”

Gabriel watched the ordeal, his red eyes flicking back and forth between the clinically cold doctor and increasingly hot tempered dragon.

                “You have met Amelie, no?” At Hanzo’s tentative nod, Moira huffed. “Do you think she got to be dead inside overnight? No!”

But Hanzo wasn’t backing off. “There must be _something_ more you can do…at least so I can sleep.”

Hanzo didn’t see it, but Gabe did. A glint sparked across Moira’s eyes, a shine that Gabe had learned from spending years with her meant a mouse had fallen right into her cat-like claws. Moira tapped her fingers together with a plastic click-click as her nails hit one another. “Tell me, what is it about Overwatch that you can’t seem to shake?”

Hanzo ran his hands down his face with a deep sigh, fingers soothing over his dark goatee. “I think of my brother. How disappointed he must be that all his faith was ill put. And I think of Jesse...he seemed….remorseful when I encountered him in King’s Row.”

                “Hmph. _Remorseful_ indeed,” she snorted coldly. “He will say anything to make you lower your guard Agent Shimada. You must know that surely. You are wanted by Overwatch—a deserter with many secrets packed into that head of yours.” Her eyes flicked to Gabe, her gaze screaming _say something_.

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Morrison probably gave him orders to lure you back,” he said, voice deep and almost echo-y from the oddities of his body. “He will not be kind to you if he gets his hands on you. Blackwatch trained him for that years ago. I made sure of it.”

The doctor tried her best to give him a tender look as the dragon’s head tipped down. Was he disappointed? Had he been hoping Jesse had been genuine? With a finger, she reached out and tilted his chin back up. “I planned on stepping you into Amelie’s position slowly, to ween you off of your _feelings_ little by little,” she explained in a soothing voice, “but I can see you are through with your suffering.” She let go and stepped back so she could turn to a nearby work table. It was cluttered with all sorts of gizmos and papers—including the blueprints from the King’s Row mission. Beside the blue print was a small metal square with thin wiring running over it. And beside the chip was a large syringe filled with a metallic looking liquid. “I can upgrade you to the final chip, but…there could be side effects.”

Gabe watched from the sidelines suspiciously. This was wrong. Everything about Moira’s current behavior was contradictory from what he knew of her. She planned for everything. Of all the scientists and doctors he had ever encountered, she had been the one that lacked bed side manners and morals—choosing rather to go with what experiments needed rather than what patients wanted. If Angela had been the medbay Angela in Overwatch, Moira had certainly been a devil on all accounts. Anything for scientific advancement. It almost pained Gabe to see the hope come back to Hanzo’s eyes.

_Oh, you poor child._

                “I have the means,” Moira continued. She toyed with the new chip, soothing her fingers over the surface as Hanzo watched. “There will be a short recovery time where I will require you to remain in our medical wing so I can keep an eye on you, followed by some…testing.”

Hanzo all the while watched her while worrying his lip with his teeth. Gabe could see him weighing the options. If he was the seasoned fighter and survivor that Gabe knew him as, he could probably sense the whole truth was not being laid bare. So, it came down to how enticing was what was being dangled in front of him. “It is…guaranteed I will stop being so…?”

                “You will cease feeling anything,” the doctor said sharply. Her face was serious, the smile slowly slipping from her face. “You will no longer get happy, sad, or mad. You will be as our precious spider is. Unfeeling.” She made a vague gesture with her hand. The older Shimada brother shifted in his seat. He glanced nervously from Moira, to Gabe, then back again. He wasn’t sure of the situation. And Moira could tell. “I cannot reverse it once it is done. You will be stuck like that forever. But…would you rather not feel anything…or be constantly reminded of the man who thought you nothing more than a cheating whore?”

Those words send a spark of fury through the dragon. Gabe knew how it felt, to feel so utterly betrayed by the one person you loved most in the world. After the shock came the sadness—a self-doubt washes over, where the one betrayed wonders if there was anything that could have prevented the stab in the back. Following this doubt is the tides of anger. Seething comes in waves, a recipe for destruction of any love left. So it was with growl of finality that Hanzo gritted out, “Let it be done.”

For the first time in years, Gabe saw utter delight on Moira’s face. And it was… _unsettling_.

                “Excellent. Gabriel, would you kindly stick around? I may need an assistant,” she said. She went flitting about the room, grabbing vials and medical equipment, dragging all of it over to the chair and the nervous looking man sitting in it. “I will give you sedatives,” she said as she continued grabbing equipment. “First, I need to remove the first chip…And I’m afraid a change of hairstyle is in order.” To illustrate her point, she had retrieve an electric razor and flipped it on briefly.

                “Whatever needs to be done.”

Moira kept the ring light above Hanzo on, but shut the other lab lights off. With a crook of her finger she beckoned Gabriel closer. “First…the hair.” Her nail traced along Hanzo scalp, tracing a line to divide the hair above and below his ears. With the top section, she twisted the strands together. “Hold please—“ she said to Gabe, who moved in to grip it in a tight hold.

The razor whined to life with a flick of the switch. Hanzo shut his eyes, having moved to sitting up so Moira could maneuver around him. With a cold touch, the low set blade raked through Hanzo’s hair from his temples down in a circle around his head. For Hanzo it was not a bad feeling—in all honesty it made his head feel lighter and cooler—but with the action it reminded him of a time in the not too distance past where, after killing Genji, he had taken Genji’s sword to his hair. He had chopped off much of the ponytail he had been so prideful about, a show of his regret over his brother. This too, was like a new beginning…a discarding of regret. Strands of black silk fell to the ground, covering the floor, joined last by the gray fluffs of hair that were his trademark. Moira left the hair on top long—a choice she had not given others.

                “I will have someone clean it up further later,” she said after several minutes of shaving and trying to get it rather even. She replaced the razor back onto the table, and began preparing small canister made of metal. Hanzo leaned back in the chair once more, sensing what was to come. “This is the nitrous oxide,” she explained. “Once you inhale this, you will be out for a while…”

Through a series of attachments and machines, a breathing apparatus was placed over his mouth and nose, while an IV drip was attached through a needle in his arm. Gabe watched the doctor hook him up, preparing him for the surgery, all the while acting like this wasn’t her plan all along. It made him sick.

Another needle was squeezed into Hanzo’s arm, this one containing the laughing gas. “When you wake up…you won’t feel a thing. Now—“

The rest of Moira’s explanation was a slur to the archer. One moment she was talking and the next he was struggling to stay awake. In no time at all he was out cold, missing entirely as the cry of surgical tools filled the room.

* * *

 

Hours later Hanzo woke up in an unfamiliar room. There was a constant beeping to his right that he quickly identified as a heart rate monitor. An IV was sticking out of his arm, connected to a bag filled with a clear liquid on a metal pole at his bed side. His head hurt, and his body ached, especially around the IV. Someone had stripped him of his talon gear and stuck him in a thin hospital gown that laced up the sides, and that strap of leather around his neck. The room he was in was a pretty standard hospital room, mostly white and packed with monitoring machines and screen displays. The only thing of interest was a vase of red roses on a table to his left. They smelled good…fresh, a scent that cut through the sterile plastic smell medical offices and hospitals always carried about them.

With no windows or clocks in the room, it was impossible to tell how long he had been out for—

Hanzo bolted up right, eyes wide. The IV monitor gave a whine as the tube kinked.

He…

Hurt.

The machine to his right start making more noise. Slowly, he felt the anger seeping in, in deep, crashing waves of heat. Moira was supposed to fix him! To take this away! The heartrate monitor beeped erratically.

                “You lying bitch!” he screamed. If anything he hurt worse than before, his entire body throbbing painfully. What had she done? “You—“

There was a ‘whoosh’ as the automatic doors slid open, followed by a zapping noise. A shock of pain rippled through Hanzo, starting from his neck and flaring out. He found himself flopping back down, body twitching from the electrical shock and his ears ringing from the shrill whine of his heart rate spiking. His vision was swimming from the sensory overload.

                “ _Sorry…I didn’t want to have to do that to you_.” Hanzo’s struggled to sit up, but a hand pressed him back down. There was a man in the room with him, but he didn’t know who. “ _No, no. Just lay down_.” The archer could barely register what was being said to him, but something in his mind told him to run despite the familiar Japanese.

As the ringing in his ears ebbed away, and the machines stopped screaming, Hanzo began to regain control. His anger was…gone? His body felt oddly numb, like something had flooded his system. Hanzo knew he should be panicking, but his body ceased to react.

The man sighed. “ _I should have told her to hold back. But…I think you’ll learn quickly.”_

Hanzo blinked, eyes focusing.

The man in front of him was skinny, and not overly tall—but taller than Hanzo. His suit was impeccable, tailored to fit him like only an expensive suit could. And his was bright white like the walls of the room. His long white-blonde hair was tied in a pony tail that laid over his shoulder, longer than how Hanzo remembered it. Scars littered his jaw line, while a darker one attempted to hide in his hair line. An eye patch hid one eye while the other stared him down in an all too familiar way.

Hanzo couldn’t breathe. He knew he should be panicking, but the emotions wouldn’t come.

He could hear the click of Peacekeeper in the back of his mind, followed by the cowboy muttering, _‘I’ll be damned.’_

                “ _I told you Hanzo, I would keep you with me forever…And now…you’re mine.”_

 

 


	10. Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took forever. :C

Somewhere in the back of Hanzo’s mind the archer knew he had made a mistake. When he had realized this he could not pinpoint—somewhere in between the testing surely. His neck where the collar clung—too tight to be comfortable—felt like it was burning and raw from the shocks, and the place where the incision had been made for the chip in his skull also hurt and got hot from use.

Hanzo’s days were a predictable routine. Food and liquids were measured and administered at the same times every day. He was given small windows of time to be washed by a nurse, again, at the same time every day. The faces coming in and out of that white room did not talk with him more than asking how he felt, if he could feel the needles pricking him, or the prods at his chipset; although he was incredibly apt at reading faces, he could gather no information about what was going on beyond his room just by looking at them. Moira came in often and took to injecting him with all sorts of liquids, adjusting his collar, fiddling with the metal in his brain. She had taken a scalpel to his left arm—or at least had attempted to. Every time the metal dipped down to almost touch his skin, sparks would fly up, threatening to electrocute the woman. Hanzo could feel the clouded confusion and rage of the dragons coiling beneath his flesh every day until suddenly—nothing. Their roars of fury in the recesses of his mind quieted, replaced by an unnerving silence and unresponsiveness.

And so too had he.

He allowed Moira to work on him, going so far as to allow for a metal back brace to be bolted in along his spine in a similar fashion as Reaper had. He gray wisps of hair that had once framed his face had been shaved away, along with the rest of the hair around his skull, save for a top portion which was kept long and flopped to the side. When he was urged down the hall to a training room to shoot at decoys and targets, to climb rock walls, and to punch and kick at sand bags he gladly went if only to keep in shape and to have something to do. Hanzo had lost himself. He had been so broken by McCree that he had leapt into the first arms willing to embrace him. If he was being honest with himself, the memory of the day Jesse had punched him still made his stomach and heart flair up, but the name of the emotion had grown hazy. The archer knew somewhere deep down that this was not what he wanted, that he should be struggling like a true dragon to be free. But he couldn’t bring himself to fight back as they continued to work on his body. In fact, he found many of his thoughts growing fuzzy as the days went on. Entire sections of days went missing, replaced only with static and a vague sense that something might have happened.

Moira seemed delighted by his progress as the days trailed on, but Hanzo wasn’t so sure. And Yoshi…

Yoshi always came in after everyone else had left. He would sit on the edge of the bed and stroke Hanzo’s slightly sunken in cheeks. The ex-bodyguard would speak in Japanese to Hanzo, his tone an attempt at soothing as he would comment on his beauty, his grace, how they were meant to be together. Where they? Hanzo couldn’t remember. The man would kiss Hanzo—a kiss which Hanzo never returned. Something instinctual in him was revolted in the action, that it didn’t feel right, not natural, but his body refused to act on it. His lack of knowing…the missing hours…it all annoyed Hanzo, but he found himself unable to show his frustration.

Then one day…

The routine changed.

When he woke, it was not due to Moira’s prodding, but to Reaper and Doomfist who were standing, watching as nurses fussed around the archer. They went about injecting things into his IVs while also ushering him out of bed.

Hanzo’s face remained impassive as he was moved about. An outfit was shoved into his hands—different from the one he had worn previously. The pants were made of a light black material not too unlike the ones he favored while in Overwatch. The shirt was a tight black fabric that clung to the muscles underneath with adjustments made in the back for the spine support to poke through, while its lack of sleeves allowed for Hanzo’s arms to be unhindered. Boots of soft black leather came up to his knees with silver metal plates going up the front for protection. Two small black gloves with openings on the backs of the hands rounded off the look.

            “Get dressed,” Akande ordered. He was leaning up against the wall in his usual half-dressed attire, looking entirely too smug.

Hanzo did as he was told, but he asked, “Where am I going?”

This time it was Reaper who answered with his face hidden behind his pale mask. “For a test run.”  

* * *

 

The holidays rolled by uneventfully, both in Talon activity and getting closer to bringing Hanzo home. While Jesse went through the motions of getting his team mates gifts, participating in Reinhardt’s huge holiday dinners for nearly a week straight at the end of December, the cowboy’s heart wasn’t in it. Genji had to admit, his friend’s façade was admirable—someone who hadn’t spent years at his side might have missed the glint of sadness in his deep brown eyes, or the lack of bounce in his step, or even the hesitation to say hello to team mates, but to Genji he could see these things clearly.

And that was why Genji found himself in one of the outdoor sparring areas. It was a large fairly open space, only dotted with a handful of trees and taller rocks. Grass covered the area which stretched nearly a full acre—albeit sparsely and showing dirt through in some sections—which was marked off by metal beams in each corner. There was no roof over head, which allowed for the elements to effect the tides of battle as it were. The acre of space was sectioned off into smaller sparing areas, with narrow strips of painted grass between the sections. This day sunlight streamed down unhindered save for the occasional puffy cloud, and the temperatures were surprisingly warm for late January—almost close to fifty degrees Fahrenheit. The closest building was a small distance behind the patch of grass Genji was currently occupying, and along its wall were locked containers—monitored by Athena—which contained training weapons. Genji would not need any of the foam and wood weapons for his work out today. While he waited for his partner to show up, he stretched out on the damp ground, metal legs outstretched, and leaned forward to touch each toe in turn. Nearby Zenyatta sat in light meditation with his golden orbs floating softly around him, sometimes dipping as though to a beat before continuing their orbit.

Genji could hear other team mates using the other training spaces, their yells, bangs, and laughter ringing out in the morning peace, nearly covering up the tweets of the birds. He was just starting to worry that Jesse wasn’t going to show when he heard the tell-tale jingle of spurs approaching. And sure enough, Jesse jogged up, out of breath and hair sticking up in the back.

            “Overslept huh?” Genji snickered.

Jesse at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “I’m here, that’s all that matters.”

The cowboy, who had a hand clamped down on top of his trade mark hat, wore brown boots with the metal spurs attached, but instead of his usual serape and armor, he was dressed more casually in jeans (with his black leather chaps over them of course), and a---

Genji blinked slowly and flipped up his visor, revealing a surprised expression.

            “You…you still have that?”

Jesse looked down at the shirt that clung to him. Back in the day it had been a deep dark black, but after years it was more of a dark gray. Small black holes dotted the bottom close to the steam, while the entire left sleeve of the shirt was missing. One the right short sleeve was a red and white circle surrounding a white horse skull. Above the logo read “MCCREE” in bold lettering. The shirt barely fit anymore—with the fabric stretching across his beefy torso and hardly touching the top of his jeans.

            “I need t’ do laundry,” he muttered as he rubbed the back of his neck with his flesh hand.

Seeing Jesse wearing his old Blackwatch shirt made a flood of memories go through Genji’s mind, ones he had long since filed away. Jesse had been wearing that shirt (or at least an identical one) the day they had been introduced by Reyes. At the time Genji had been man fueled by fury, feeling utterly alone and betrayed due to his brother’s attack against him. He had just been “murdered” and lost his body, and after months and months of the Overwatch staff building his new body, customizing all the pieces, making sure all the nerve ending attached properly, and then months and months of rehabilitation learning how to function again, Genji had been shown to a room that he would be sharing with “someone his age”. Reyes had been rather tight lipped on who Genji would be rooming with, only saying they were male and close to the same age, and at the time Genji hadn’t pressed; he wasn’t there to make friends. The ex-Shimada heir was only in Blackwatch to repay them for the new body—nothing more.

Regardless, he had been rather surprised when the door hissed open to his room and he saw a scrawny looking boy in a Blackwatch shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots standing there looking at them like he had thought about shooting the two of them in the doorway—his body language broadcasting that he was startled.  “Jesse McCree” had a haunted look in his eyes that spoke volumes of what kind of past the twenty something year old had, and the nicks and scars on his tan skin said he was not some sort of pencil-pusher type. It took weeks for them to warm up to each other enough to carry short conversations. Jesse was like a wild stallion, caged and untamed, nervous and likely to lash out to protect himself from anything he perceived as a threat. On the other side of the spectrum, Genji was a cyborg full of loathing and hatred, anti-social and sharp tongued. Slowly the silence was replaced with teamwork, each of them watching the other while they were in combat, and by the end of their first year together they found themselves sitting on their weathered sofa together in their room, beer in hand, watching television after missions. They were inseparable. After Reyes betrayed Overwatch, and the organization fell into ruin, the two partners were forced separate ways. Jesse returned to the States, becoming a vagabond with one of the highest bounties on a single person to date. Genji on the other hand traveled through Europe and Asia before finding himself in a Shambali temple somewhere in the mountains of Nepal. Genji thought about Jesse a lot in their time apart and always wished him well. To see him during Recall had been an emotional experience.

Genji snapped out of his thoughts back to the here and now. He gave a small wave-like gesture. “I’m sure my brother loves it. Probably compliments how it makes your shoulders look…?”

Jesse gave a chuckle. There was a little heartbreak in it that made Genji frown. “Yeah. Drives him wild when I wear it.” The gunslinger gazed around. They were in an isolated training area—the nearest people were a couple spaces away playing some sort of ball game. “Why did y’ insist on meetin’ out ‘ere?” he asked the cyborg.

The younger man approached. “I figured after all that eating you did during the holidays, you could use a little work out.” Genji snickered and poked at Jesse’s belly. “Plus I’ve heard some particularly gross rumors about the kinds of acts you and my brother have been caught in, and I must avenge his honor.”

Jesse batted him away with a huff. If Zenyatta thought anything of their back and forth, he said nothing, and his faceplate gave nothing away; the omnic merely sat off to the side, hovering about a foot off the ground, legs crossed and head slightly bowed. “Hey now, I didn’t do anythin’ yer brother didn’t _beg_ me for. And I’ll have you know, he _loves_ my tummy.”

Genji continued the jest, giving a mock gasp. Slowly he spread his legs out, bending at the knee, and brining his arms bent up in front of him, ready to strike. Jesse kicked off his boots and got into a similar stance, body moving as if on its own to plant his now bare feet in the grass. This was the sort of sparring they did back in Blackwatch, with plenty of pulled punches and egging each other on. It fired something up in Jesse’s belly…made him feel young again— _not that he was old of course_. Jesse had always been a better shot than Genji, but Genji usually showed his superior prowess in close combat.

There were few connected blows as the two of them danced around each other within their sectioned off training area. Zenyatta never once lifted his head, not even the few times McCree would curse when his fist actually connected with Genji’s metal frame, or the hasty apology uttered by Genji as he struck McCree. The two went on like this for some time, dancing in a circle around one another, trying swipe the other’s feet out from under them while also trying to dodge fists and open palms. But eventually McCree stumbled back and plopped down into the grass and dirt, panting heavily, chest heaving up and down. The younger Shimada brother was hardly in better condition; the small air vents on his shoulders opened up, allowing for a continuous stream of hot air to escape from within the cyborg’s body. From the sidelines two golden orbs zipped over, one twirling around Genji and the other floating over Jesse. Golden slight radiated from the balls, healing all the scratches the two had gotten.

            “Thank y’, Zen,” Jesse called over.

The omnic monk gave a polite wave. “Think nothing of it.”

            “You’re getting slow in your old age,” Genji teased.

Jesse rolled his eyes before flopping backwards. “What does that say ‘bout you? Y’ got a metal body an’ still can’t keep up.”

The old partners shared a chuckle. The cyborg wobbled over and sat down beside the cowboy. The vents on his shoulders finally clapped shut, letting Genji give a sigh of relief.

            “How do you do it?”

The question took Genji off guard. His eyes flicked down to Jesse who seemed to be looking up at the clouds floating by overhead.

            “Do what?” he asked.

Genji did not miss the agitated lines that appeared between Jesse’s brows. For a moment, it was almost as if he saw Commander Reyes looking back at him. “How can you act so calm? So carefree?” Jesse asked. His voice had taken on a slightly watery tone that reflected in the sadness of his eyes. “Han…he’s out there, and we can’t…” The cowboy swept his flesh hand over his face, no doubt to hide the broken expression that had appeared. Then quietly he added, in a voice Genji could scarcely hear, “I fucked up Genji.”

The cyborg considered for a moment before laying down beside his friend—his brother-in-law. “You did.” But when he saw Jesse flinch, he continued on. “You made a mistake. You let jealousy and anger consume you and you lashed out. But, Jesse, you are only human--you are not perfect.” Zenyatta’s orbs slowly returned to the monk who was still quietly off to the side. Genji knew he was listening, even if it did not seem so. “I…I am not as calm as I appear. Do I wish I knew where Hanzo was so I could drag him back? Of course! I know he is aching and hurting, and I wish to help him however I can. But…there is no use going around Europe, guns blazing, looking for him. We need to be smart my friend.” He left out the bad feeling he got in his gut from his own spirit dragon, whose siblings were in distress.

Jesse said nothing. His face still looked pained, but also contemplating. So Genji continued on.

            “I spent nearly a decade after Overwatch disbanded not only training under Master Zenyatta, but also looking for Hanzo. He is evasive at the best of times, and completely un-trackable at the worst. It took me _ten years_ to locate him, and only because I caught on to a pattern of violence back in Hanamura.” In truth, he visited Hanamura from time to time, under the guise of a tourist, just so he could see his old home once again. It was on one of these visits—around the yearly anniversary of his murder—that he had glimpsed a golden ribbon just disappearing over the gate to the Shimada estate. Lucky.

            “I…“I can’t wait that long Genji. I can’t wait that long t’ say I’m sorry.”” Jesse gulped. Ten years? Could he wait that long to merely stumble into his fiancé again? His hand went across his to grip at the left side of his chest, right over his chest which felt like it was coiled tight. “I need to find him. I can’t live with t’ fact that I did this to him. He needs t’ be back home with me…and t’ know I…”

Genji gave a faint smile. Hanzo was lucky. To have someone so desperately in love with him—did he even know? The younger brother shook his head to himself. No, he had lost sight of that—they both had. “It’s our duty to get him back then. We’ll keep trying. It won’t be easy, and it make take a while but—“

Suddenly from off to the side, there was a couple beeps coming from Zenyatta—the sound of the com. “Ah,” Zenyatta said, “It appears Athena is hailing us.” Genji and Jesse scrambled to their feet and over to the omnic, pulling up grass in their haste. Zenyatta reached up and tapped the side of his head, allowing for Athena to be heard by the other two as well. “You are on speaker Athena.”

            “ _Thank you Agent Zenyatta_ ,” came the AI’s voice. _“Agents Shimada and McCree, your presence is requested at the hangar in T minus 60 minutes._ ”

Jesse crossed his arms. “That’s rather short notice, even fer the Commander. Where we headed?”

 _“Agent Efi is sending in reports of Talon activity in Numbani,”_ Athena informed them _. “She sent over various pictures Orisa has procured of what appears to be Talon agents talking the streets in broad daylight. All appear to be armed._ ” McCree had just opened his mouth when Athena cut in again, _“Hanzo Shimada appears to be in several of the photos.”_

Jesse’s heart leapt into his throat. “Han—“

            _“You will be joined by Agents Ziegler, Zhou, Winston, and Amari. Commander Morrison will debrief you via transmission while on the carrier with more specific orders_.”

            “Genji—“

Genji flipped down his visor. As it clicked into place it gave a small flash of green. “It appears we may not have to wait ten years after all.”

-

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. The Duty of a Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. I've been in a bit of a creative slump, causing me to re-write this chapter several times before deciding on this version. I hope you all enjoy it.

  _I don't want to do this anymore._

Even in his youth, Hanzo had been known throughout the clan for his quiet demeanor and reserved nature. He was regarded as one of the most intelligent members of the clan--brilliant with business strategy as well as cunning in battle, and was commented on being able to talk circles around his peers. With an ever expanding diction he was able to win arguments with ease and convert others to see his way, all the while retaining an even tone. Genji had been different. He was emotional, and while highly resourceful and intelligent in his own way, he saw no harm in getting dirty or hurt in order to learn what made something tick. The younger Shimada was often loose with his tongue, often saying whatever was on his mind without thinking of repercussions. What could possibly hurt the son of clan head?

But the young Hanzo also had a rage in him. He kept it concealed--for it was unsightly in his opinion to slip out of control like he sometimes did in the privacy of his chambers. Like a dragon, Hanzo Shimada was prideful, especially about his family and his blood. He was the result of generations of careful marriage alliances, resulting in a genetically healthy and frankly beautiful specimen. Same with Genji, as much as Hanzo hadn't believed the younger boy reflected that idea. Although he kept his anger under control, it would be kindled forever in him, and flare up anytime he heard a business man talking bad about the Shimada finances, or a maid hissing to another about how unsightly his green haired brother was. And of course, any time he was reprimanded during training and received a crack across is knuckles with a bamboo rod for a mistake, he kept his anger inside. This anger served as a driving force during his decade as a renegade after Genji's murder.

As Hanzo jumped from rooftop to rooftop through Numbani, he tried to recall that feeling of the fire within him. There had always been a tingling down his limbs when he got mad, right? Hadn't his heart hammered faster and his fist clenched when he thought about hurting whatever made him mad? He couldn't remember. Or rather, could no longer relate.

His feet made a metallic pitter patter as he raced across the gold and silver metal rooftops in the heart of the city. Sweat streamed down his temples and the back of his neck as the metal under his feet gave off waves of leftover heat from the day. Down below people  who were out trying to enjoy their dinners and evening shopping in town were screaming and fleeing into whatever nearby store they could as OR15 units scrambled as fast as their bulky bodies would allow, down the crowded streets, trying to keep up with the Talon agent overhead. Hanzo had entered the African city with Doomfist, Yoshi, and Reaper, all three of which were scattered across Numbani with their own orders from Talon Command. He knew Yoshi was nearby--as his handler he had to be, but once the archer had been spotted after his assassination of a Vishkar agent, they had split up. There were other Talon operatives in the city as well--lower ranking grunts--but he had no idea what purpose they were to serve, and frankly, he didn't care.

Hanzo's orders had been brief and to the point. Vishkar had some sort of interest in Numbani--the brass of Talon believed they were setting up for another HQ, or perhaps some sort of joint venture of some kind with a Numbani run company. Whatever the case, Vishkar was both loved and hated in equal parts around the world. Some saw them as a missionary-like business, helping people around the world live in more suitable conditions following the Omnic Wars. Others saw them as ruthless invaders who did nothing to help preserve the customs of the people they were "helping", or to keep local wildlife intact. If Hanzo remembered correctly, Vishkar was the company that his old Overwatch comrade, Symmetra, worked for, and served as a point of conflict between her and the audio medic Lucio. As for the controversies surrounding the company were concerned, Hanzo felt swayed toward neither side. His duty had been to go into the city and assassinate one of the Vishkar figure heads. Though he wasn't told, he assumed this not only would delay whatever the company had planned to accomplish during their visit, but also as stir up arguments  between those that support and oppose Vishkar. A win-win either way.

His target had been talking down the street with a couple coworkers when Hanzo had spotted him. The man was probably in his forties, looking dignified in his white, purple, and gold uniform of the company. Everything about him had spoken of pride, from the way he slicked back his jet black hair from his face, to his upright posture as he walked and how his legs moved with a barely held back swagger. The Indian man chatted amicably with his team mates, oblivious to the assassin who had darted into an alley behind him in order to climb up onto the rooftop. The archer had snuck along behind the man, lurking in builds always one or two back so as not to be spotted. When the man--who's name Hanzo had all but forgotten--stopped to wait for a crossing light to path across a busy street, Hanzo had taken Stormbow from his back and strung a single arrow. Numbani traffic, which while organized was always thick and difficult for pedestrians to navigate in the busy evening hours, proved the man's downfall. Having to stand and wait at the crosswalk allowed for the skilled assassin at his 5 o' clock to take careful aim and let loose his deadly arrow. It pierced the man's neck with a quick noise of cutting air before sticking in a crack in the concrete before him. The spray of blood and the man gasping vainly for air sent those around him into an immediate panic.

The kill gave Hanzo no happiness, nor any grief. It merely _was._ He had followed orders, and had produced results.

_I don't want to do this anymore._

While the traffic had been at first a blessing for Hanzo, it also brought a draw back. With so many humans in one place, all trying to walk around and navigate, the Numbani government had posted several OR15 units around the area to serve as crime deterrents and general helpers. As the chaos erupted in the streets, the nearby omnic police units sprang into action. Hanzo, for all his experience in battle and for all his preparedness, had not counted on this. He had been spotted climbing down the building he was in by an OR15 who had been positioned nearby as a directory. And, as his luck would have it, immediately alarmed to the other units in the area upon seeing Hanzo's bow and quiver.

Hanzo had no choice but to run.

The noise of discharging machine guns from the OR15s rang out in the twilight. Some of the large, four legged robots were stationed at the far end of the street, hoping to pin him between themselves and the group that was currently chasing him.

Over the roof tops he ran, careful to keep zig zagging so as not to be hit by bullets. He went down straight, following the road, before coming across an alleyway. Hanzo could have easily made the jump across the short gap between the buildings, but instead he daringly hopped down to street level, turning sharply down the narrow alley.

            " _Cease running!"_ came the robot yell of the nearest OR15.

The omnics bunched at the mouth of the alley and fired their guns down the narrow path. Hanzo bolted down the dark space, having to quickly scamper over a metal fence about halfway down. As he was nearing the exit, two or three bullets grazed his side. The lightweight shirt he was wearing offered no protection, allowing the bullets to tear open his skin. Luckily for him it was a shallow wound, but even so, blood immediately began blooming up on the fabric, turning the black shirt even darker on his side. He continued running however, oblivious to the wound due to the clip in his head. The omnics perusing him were far too large to take the same route, which would give him time as they had to navigate the long way around the buildings. He kept his pace, weaving in and out of alleyways and streets until the trampling of omnics' feet grew too distant to hear.

A normal man would have gave up running long ago, too tired and out of breathe to continue, too overwhelmed by the gunshot wounds. But not Hanzo. With the talon drugs still in his system, he felt none of this exhaustion, nor fear of being caught. He let his feet carry him through the winding back alley streets, over fences, until there was he was sure they couldn't follow. His heart was pounding in his chest--probably painfully if he had to guess. When he finally slowed to a walking pace he found himself in a small green stretch of land, dotted by trees, water fountains, and a winding bike path. A park, he realized. The sun had finally settled behind the horizon sometime during his escape from the authorities, allowing him to slip into the park unseen under the cover of darkness. Due to the late hour there was nobody in the area. The archer pulled his bow and his quiver from his back and wandered over to a nearby tree that had a couple low hanging branches.  With a lack of a grace he plopped down onto the grass at the foot of the trunk; just because he couldn't feel the pain of his body being exhausted, it didn't mean it wasn't--if he wasn't careful, overexertion could kill him. The tree was flanked by several others, each with thick leaves to provide cover, but also a clear view of the path that lay nearby. This way Hanzo could feel hidden, but also see who was approaching and from where. Back to the trunk he took deep breaths, trying to lower his heart rate while his hand fumbled for his com. It was when he reached for the com that he grazed his side and he realized it came away with streaks of red. Sure enough he was bleeding.

His finger just about pressed the button, but he hesitated. Something in him--perhaps an image of his old self, back when he was in Overwatch?--made him still himself. Should he press the button? He was alone for the first time in who knows how long. Yoshi was nowhere in sight. It was just him...and his thoughts.

Over the course of testing, as each day became more of the same coin of feeling or numbness, remembering sharply or forgetting entirely, Hanzo had to wonder: Had he made the right choice? Joining Talon had seemed like the perfect escape after his fiancé had dropped him. Regret had been there, perhaps from day one in a small sense. Regret it had to come to this. But is slowly built into something more. As much as he pretended not to, he missed the warm sea of Gibraltar, and more than that, he missed the charming smile and smooth as whiskey voice of his partner. Especially when he started the testing, he wanted someone there to hold him from behind as he laid in the hospital bed, to kiss his shoulders and tell him everything would be fine.

But those emotions were subdued. Still there, lingering on the fringes, but more of a memory.

 _If I do not call, I will bleed out._ His rational mind told him.

And again he hesitated.

 _You could be free_.

            "This is agent Shimada," he panted, finger begrudgingly on the talk button. "My target is down."

Akande answered first, no idea of the struggle inside the archer. "Excellent. Mine had met his end as well. Reaper?"

            " _Cleaning up now. What about you, Rat?"_ It was no secret that Reaper despised Yoshi, but as for why was a mystery to Hanzo.

There was a delayed reply from Yoshi. "Everything is good on my end. Hanzo, I lost sight of you during the omnic chase. Where are you?"

            "In some park," he said with a shrug.

            "Ah, I'm getting the read from your GPS. I shall swing by and pick you up. Sit tight."

Hanzo looked at the blood on his hands with an oddly fascinated by the dark liquid and how it shined in the dim light of the moon that had risen overhead. Before the chip he would have been able to tell when he was shot, but now... "Could you bring some medical supplies as well? I appear to have been shot during my run."

Akande gave a low curse. "How bad are the wounds?"

            "I think I'll live," Hanzo commented dryly. "But do not dally if it can be helped."

The archer's hand just strayed away from the com when he heard a noise nearby. His ears strained through the sound of crickets and night creatures to try and pick it up again.

The crunch of grass.

Hanzo grabbed for his bow while he sprang to his feet, just in time to see the gleam of green in the night and hear the hiss of hot air escaping from a metal body.

            "Anija."

The archer could only huff out a laugh. Of course. Here he is, separated from his team, wounded, with no idea where he is, and _of course_ his brother shows up. "How long were you tailing me?" Genji had always been pretty good at following people silently without being noticed; it was something that had surprised Hanzo when he had learned he was in a cyborg body and _still_ had that ability.

            "Long enough. I saw you shoot that man," he said, voice filled with sadness. Genji flicked up his visor, showing brown eyes full of disappointment and dark brows knitted together in worry. The look had been the same when Hanzo had approached him the night of the fratricide. Disappointed and hurt. "Brother, please, stop this."

Hanzo stood at his full height, trying not to draw attention to the fact he was wounded--albeit a vain notion considering Genji had seen the OR15 omnics shooting him. "Stop what? I have my orders, as do you."

            "Orders...? Hanzo, I act on no one's orders but my own when I beg you, _come home_." Genji's eyes flicked to Hanzo's hands which were gripping his bow. The archer's quiver still lay on the ground behind him. The ninja's mind was already mulling over trying to overpower the injured man, but he knew it wouldn't be as easy as it appeared. Hanzo had years of training with not only his bow, but physical training as well. And who knew what Talon had been doing with him. The crease between his brows deepened. "Please Hanzo. I miss you terribly. We all do."

            "Nonsense." His voice did not waver, nor did it display emotion. In comparison to his brother, whom was growing more emotional by the second, Hanzo appeared a stoic statue. _Don't let him see._

Genji growled. "No, not nonsense!" His fists were clenched and trembling by his side--a tremble that carried over into his voice. "I've been looking for you since the day you disappeared, and so has McCree!"

            "I have no interest in that cowboy--"

            "He misses you!" Genji shouted back. "He hasn't been the same without you there!"

Should this information affect him? Something in his heart told him yes. And yet he stood there, unable to formulate a reaction to it. His fiancé missed him? Unlikely given their argument and the words said. As he pondered, Genji's eyes waltzed up and down him. The last time he had seen his brother was in King's Row, and it had been at a distance. Even so, it appeared things had changed since then. His face was gaunter and white, his eyes dark, even his hair shaved at the sides. Genji's eyes could just make out in the night the scar where the implant was in his brother's skull.

            " _What have they done to you_?" he asked, voice full of pity.

Hanzo did not skip a beat, replying with, " _Nothing I have not asked for_."

            "Oh Hanzo..."

            " _Do not pity me._ I have never felt stronger, nor more desired for my talents." He spoke with confidence despite the lie.

Genji's eyes narrowed, almost angrily. "You may be my brother, and you may have joined Talon, but Hanzo, _do not_ lie to my face. Do not do me the dishonor of believing me so stupid as to believe a blatant lie." His anger, although getting to swell like a bonfire, quelled suddenly when he saw just how much blood was dripping from his brother's side. "You are wounded."

As his brother went to take a step forward, Hanzo lifted his bow. He had no arrows within reach, and he knew he wouldn't be able to turn his back on his brother to fetch any.

            "Hanzo--"

            "Come no closer."

            "Please, you're wounded," Genji implored. "Let me help you. Let me help my _brother--"_

 _"_ I cannot feel it."

This information hit Genji hard. "You--?"

Hanzo placed his gloved hand over the wound, only to pull away fingers dripping red. "I feel nothing. I felt nothing as I ran--not exhaustion, nor fear. I felt nothing when I was shot--not pain, nor remourse when I shot that man. I feel nothing now, standing before you, knowing you are my brother. I feel...nothing."

Genji however was full to the brim with feelings. Horror that something so fundamentally human had been ripped from Hanzo. Anger towards Talon for doing this to him. Fear that his brother may never be the same man he had known all his life. But there was something more. And Genji of all people would understand what it meant to be human, given the body that was taken from him. He could feel his spirit dragon tossing about as if in a panic, yearning to get closer to Hanzo. Sensing, probing. Something more was wrong that what Genji could see. "Let me take you home. We'll fix you. Jesse wanted to apologize--"

            "Genji." The tone immediately made the younger brother stiffen. Hearing how his brother said his name threw his mind back to a day long ago, when they both still lived within the clan in Japan, when Hanzo had told him that their father had died. That grave tone that carried with it nothing--a tailored voiced beaten into him by the clan. The younger Shimada suddenly could feel that familiar tingle going down his limbs like a coming before a storm. "I have no intentions of going back to him."

            "That's not right...you love him! I know it!" Genji yelled at him, voice full of passion. The air between them crackled with unseen energy, enough to make the hair on Hanzo's arms raise. Hanzo's eyes narrowed dangerously, but Genji forged on. "They are manipulating you Hanzo. You have to know that! They've been sowing doubt in you all this time!"

Hanzo's vision started to blur around the edges. _The blood_ , he realized--or rather, assumed...He was losing too much.

His brother didn't notice. "We've been looking into it back at headquarters. They had to have been tracking you Hanzo, using your past to get to you." Genji advanced slightly as he saw Hanzo bringing up a hand to his forehead. "They've been planning this...probably since Japan..."

Hanzo's head began to ache, a deep throb that set his teeth to clenching. " _Shut up_..."

            "They don't value you as a person, _Anija_. They--" Genji paused, biting down on his bottom lip.

_It had been at one of the brainstorming meetings. Genji had been in attendance along with Winston, Jack, Angela, Mei, Jesse, and even Zenyatta. For months they had been conducting regular weekly meetings, reviewing talon activity, as well as Hanzo's, trying to find a lead on where the archer could be--where Talon had taken him. They had even brought up the mission in Hanamura that Jesse and Hanzo had went on together, reviewing with aching detail that they had overlooked Yoshi. Jesse, with a vocabulary of colorful words, had described the manipulative snake, and Genji found that the more he thought about it, the more he should have realized the man was bad for his brother back in their youth. How had he let him be with someone so toxic?_

_But it was an offhand comment from Jesse that had given both Genji and Jack pause._

_"If he never would have went to Hanamura on that mission, maybe he would still be 'ere," Jesse had sighed. The mug of coffee he had been drinking got slammed down on the conference room table before him. "That's when everthin' went t' hell in a handbag! We never even found that god damned weapon either! Whole damn thing was a wild goose chase!"_

_Genji let the words wash over him. They never found...The cyborg stood up quickly, spilling his cup of tea all over the table and ignoring the mug as if rolled off the edge and shattered._

_"It was a red heron--"_

His attention snapped back to the here and now, staring at his brother who was so close physically, but seemed miles inside his own head. Hanzo's fingers were balled against the shaven hair on his temples, eyes squeezed shut, face taunt with pain. "They've been using you, manipulating you, _hurting you_ , to reduce you to _this_." There was no malice in his words, only a calm understanding; all of Zenyatta's teachings coming to fruition. "There was no weapon. They fooled us all."

            " _Shut up_ \--!" Hanzo bit out.

Genji stepped forward, metal hand reaching out boldly to touch the top of Hanzo's head. Hanzo's breaths were heaving now, and his younger brother could only look at him with sad eyes. "It was always you. You were the weapon they were after." When Hanzo didn't reply, but merely stilled, Genji continued, hoping to break through to him. "Talon sought out the Shimada in our youth, asking our father to join hands with them, and he refused. He saw the rotten in them. But they wanted what we Shimada have that make us special. They used you, Hanzo, to get your dragons--"

There was a sudden surge through Hanzo--like a dam bursting with too much water. Hanzo howled like a beast and grabbed for the arm that was outreached to him. Genji had always been faster, but this-- Strong fingers wrapped around the metal wrist and twisted in a jarring motion. Genji could hear the metal joints in his wrist bending from the pressure, and he hear a couple clicks in his hand as the mechanism that held his shuriken popped out of alignment. It took Genji ramming into him with the shoulder to dislodge his brother who, in a moment like a broken doll, collected himself and went on the attack again, this time with his bow clenched firmly in hand. Genji's own hand and wrist were broken, oil lubricant dripping out of the cracks and down his fingers.

            "Hanzo--!"

His brother's footwork was sloppy at best as he came at him again. A few simple steps to the side had him staggering and falling to his knees before wobbling up again. Hanzo's breaths were frantic as his body tried to catch up with what he was willing it to do. Genji had no choice but to draw his blade. Hanzo came at him again and again, using his precious Storm Bow as if it were a blade--just like he had during their first reunion in Hanamura all that time ago. As the moon climbed into the sky the two brother continued their deadly dance, with Genji deflecting each blow with his blade, while Hanzo staggered around almost like he were drunk. This went on for several minutes before Genji failed to meet his bow and merely stepped aside. He could barely see in the night lighting, but the wound on Hanzo's side had deepened with all of his moving, and blood had soaked through his uniform. Hanzo went to go forward for another attack, but his world began to spin once again. He fell to his knees in the grass, vision swimming.

Genji placed his blade under his brother's chin in order to lift it. Golden amber eyes lifted to meet his, and Genji saw nothing but a grim sadness in them.

            "Is this truly what you have become?" Genji asked, a snarl entering into his voice. Zenyatta had taught him patience and loving all, but Hanzo's struggling angered a part of him. Why was he being so foolish? "So wrapped up in yourself that you let yourself be blinded by power and rage---"

The words he would have continued with died on Genji's tongue. Hanzo reached up with his gloved hand and wrapped his fingers around the tip of his blade. Whereas Genji had merely had it resting under his chin, Hanzo brought the sharp tip to poke the skin just above his Adam's apple. Those amber eyes which had always been filled with determination and fire were full of despair. A chill ran through Genji to mix with genuine horror in his stomach.

_I can't do this anymore._

Hanzo's voice was not the same when he spoke again. For a brief and shining moment, instead of monotone nothingness, his voice cracked, and through it he said, so softly Genji almost couldn't hear,

            "Please. Do it."

Genji's eyes widened in horror, but those fingers tightened their hold and pressed the blade closer, enough that the end drew a prick of blood.

            "Please Genji. I can't do this anymore."

The sword dropped with a loud clatter. This time it was Genji stepping back with uneasy footing.

            "You don't mean that!" he gasped out. But Hanzo was still on his knees before him, offering his neck. Genji felt panic raising in his throat, the likes of which he hadn't ever felt before, not even when Hanzo had been advancing to kill him back on that dark day. "You can't--Hanzo, you can't ask that of me--"

            "Who else would I ask but the brother who claims to have forgiven me?" Hanzo bowed his head, eyes finally falling away from Genji. "The experiments have left me emotionless, and I cannot even complain--for it is what I begged them for. But I get briefly flashes of missing him, missing you. Genji...I can no longer summon my dragons--even they have forsaken me. I ask you as my brother, whom I have wronged enough for one lifetime...before they gain control again...please, do your duty as if you were still in the clan. End me."

Genji didn't have a chance to reply. He had been so focused on Hanzo he had failed to sense the person coming up on him from his left. The gauntlet that punched him set the cyborg flying across the open space of the park until he collided with a tree. His metal body hit the wooden trunk hard, breaking him badly as he fell to the ground in a heap. His legs were bent completely wrong on the ground behind him, too shattered to walk on. Akande stood at Hanzo's side, metal fist raised, and a smirk on his face. Hanzo had made to call after his brother, but dizziness finally overcame him and he ended up passing out just as the shadowy darkness enveloped him. The younger Shimada could only watch helplessly as the wraith that was once his commander became solid to hold Hanzo in his arms, while Akande exchanged muted words with him. Struggle as he might, the Talon agents began walking away with his passed out brother and into the night.

Legs shattered, Genji had no choice but to lay on the cold ground. The encounter with Hanzo shook him to his core. Hanzo wanted to...

_Genji...I can no longer summon my dragons--even they have forsaken me._

Perhaps that was why his own seemed in so much turmoil--his siblings were rejecting their master. But if Hanzo couldn't summon the dragons anymore...and that was the entire reason that Talon had set up this elaborate trap...then Hanzo was in danger.

 


	12. Dilly Dally Shilly Shally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. I actually didn't wait forever and a day to post this chapter---although it's close to 2am where I live as I'm posting this. What can I say? This chapter came to me today, and I was actually able to sit and write it. 
> 
> There'll be more notes at the bottom.
> 
> As always, I appreciate all your comments. I feel like I should get a mug which reads "Reader's tears" for some of the comments you all leave about being sad. :p I enjoy reading all your feedback, so please, feel free to leave comments! You can also find me on tumblr under the same name. If for whatever reason you create fan art or anything based off of any of my fics, let me know--I would love to see!

It is a truth universally acknowledged--at least amongst the Overwatch recruits--that an agent returning from a mission will long only for the sweet embrace of their private quarters. Jet lag and just overall exhaustion from the mission itself guide tired feet through the base from the hangar all the way to their rooms where beds beckon to them. Of course, rest is always rather short lived due to needing to fill in their commanders on details and give a rundown of their findings on the mission, but not much else rivals the feeling of the automatic doors to their living space squishing open, the lights flickering on, and that first initial sensation of "I'm home" traveling down the agent's body.

Jesse couldn't remember the last time he felt that way.

Numbani had been rough on him. Not particularly due to any overexertion he did physically while there--in fact, aside from a little running he did to find Genji, he saw very little action. But finding his best friend of nearly a decade laying like a broken doll, helpless, at the base of that tree and _knowing_ who did it had exhausted him beyond measure.

                _"It wasn't him Jesse. It was Doomfist--"_

Of course. Jesse knew that. One look at how the metal casing of Genji's body was cracked and shattered told the cowboy that something had hit him incredibly hard. And he had seen enough arrows and scatter shots to know that--while dangerous in their own right--were not consistent with the damage he was seeing to Genji. Dutifully he had scooped up Genji and taken him back to the rendezvous point for pick up.

Coming back to base Jesse's entire body felt heavy. Perhaps he was getting too old for this line of work, and his body was protesting as was its right. But no, that couldn't be it; Reinhart was nearly twice his age and was still able to carry on and charge into battle as if he were twenty. Since the mission had been brief he only had one duffle bag to remove from the cargo hold of the transport once they landed, and after seeing that Genji was being wheeled off to be cared for by Angela, Zenyatta, and even Brigitte, Jesse felt it only made sense to make for his room. It was already late at night when the team had touched down in Gibraltar, and with Morrison on the mission with them, there was no immediate need for a debriefing. With a cigar pressed to his lips the minute he was out of the hangar Jesse made his way through the chill of the winter night, face snuggled down into his winter coat as he trekked across the site. A light dusting of snow had fallen during the day and had blanketed the buildings and ground with a thin layer of powdery white--not good enough for a snowball fight Genji would have assured him. Behind the cowboy trailed wisps of smoke as he puffed on his much needed cigar. Nobody was out this time of night, so he went unbothered in his trek to his room.

Once at his room he punched in the code for the door and was greeted the same as always with the confirmation ping of the key code, the hiss of the door sliding open, all the lights coming on for him, and Hanzo's voice carrying from deeper within, _"Welcome home Jes---"_

No. Only silence.

Jesse gave a small sigh and stepped inside, allowing for the door to close behind him. It was always like this now. When he was especially tired when he came home his brain would _always_ think it heard his lover calling out to him. It had been like that since shortly after Hanzo left. With duffle bag in hand he shuffled into his bedroom and began unpacking with his luggage bag propped open at the foot of the bed. The sensation of "being home" was weak if it was there at all. Sure, his surroundings were familiar and it gave him the sense of familiarity and safety, but it lacked the warm feeling it possessed when Hanzo was there. Long gone were the days where the gunslinger could sluggishly return home and plop down in bed, only to be enveloped by arms and have kisses trailed up his neck. _"Welcome home Anata."_ That was another luxury his tired mind loved to remind him of. As he finished putting away his things, he stripped down and slid under the blankets. The moment the side of his face touched the cool fabric of the pillow, he got the phantom sensation of arms wrapping around him from behind. He could clearly feel the muscular arms wrapping around him, hands coming to rest on his hairy chest, palms open, fingers digging in slightly. He could feel the scruff of his lover's goatee prickle the skin of his shoulder before the soft press of lips soothed away the slight irritation. And of course there was the lingering scent of whatever cologne Hanzo splashed on during the day.

Oh how he wished.

There was no whisper of his name, no playful gropes at him and murmurs of how much he was missed. He had ruined that. Only a lonely silence to keep him company until he finally fell asleep.

* * *

 

In his sleep he had the sense of falling, but when his eyes snapped opened--expecting to be falling out of bed, he was greeted by endless white. Jesse found himself laying on the ground with a sky of white overhead, and beneath him a sea of green grass and bright yellow sunflowers. The flowers had their petals stretched open wide as if the sun was out. But this place...as Jesse gazed around, he realized that what he saw was all that there was. Where was he? The only sound he could hear was the gentle rustling of a breeze through the grass and sunflowers--no birds, bugs, or streams to be heard.

                "I'm dreamin'?"

All around him was warm...comforting, and familiar. He got to his feet and made a circle, looking in every direction. The flowers and grass seemed to go on forever, but there was a whitish mist that gave him the sense he might be in a smaller space than he thought--as if it created a barrier. He went to turn around again, he found himself unable, as if his body were frozen facing ahead. Fear started bubbling up at the his restricted movement--

But then he felt it.

A familiar static racing up his body from his feet, like the coil of snakes slithering up him. And amongst this sensation...a scent of familiar cologne.

                "You're here," came a pleased voice from behind him. Jesse could feel a warm presence behind him, and the tone was so painfully familiar it made his heart ache. The person made a thoughtful noise, almost as if he were contemplating his crossword puzzle. "You always were rather gifted...I suppose it shouldn't come as a surprise."

Jesse closed his eyes. This was all just a dream wasn't it? He had been thinking about him before bed and--

His train of thought derailed when he felt a hand on his shoulder, resting in that familiar way it did when Jesse was going too deep in his head. "But why are you here?"

The cowboy found it hard to speak. His heart was beating painfully fast, pulse racing in his veins. What could he say? All the things he had felt since that fateful day he went after him yelling caught in his throat and banged around in his lungs. How could he express everything he had been feeling? He didn't have enough breath in his lungs for such an endeavor. Fingers soothed down his bear arm in a calming gesture, but Jesse could feel his breath hitching continuously as the tears built up.

                "Oh, Anata, don't cry..."

But he couldn't help himself. Silver streams of tears darted down his face in quick succession, mixing in his beard. To vocalize what he felt...

                "Jes--"

                "I'm so sorry!" Jesse blurted out.

The hands soothing him stopped.

Jesse scrubbed some of the tears away with the back of his hand, but still he could not look behind him. What face was he making? Was he smug at the apology? Angry?

                "I miss you," he admitted, heartbreaking. "I miss you so much that sometimes I jus' want t' break."

The hands drew away, but Jesse forged on.

                "I miss havin' you at home. I miss hearin' you laugh when I tell a stupid joke, I miss seeing t' corners of your eyes crinkle when you smile. I miss seein' your beautiful face when I wake up in the morning, and to be the last thing I see before I go to bed at night." Jesse's hands balled into fists at his sides as tears continued to trace down his cheeks. There was silence, but he could still feel the presence behind him. "I want to take it all back. I never meant half the things I said to you that day--I regret not approaching you like a god damn adult...Instead...." The cowboy tipped back his head, surprising himself a little when the back of his head hit a solid mass. "I hurt you so bad."

Just went Jesse thought that maybe he was really alone, those arms looped around him and squeezed. He could feel the tip of a nose rubbing against his neck, and those hands splayed out to grab onto him. If he really focused, he could hear his breathing.

                "I..." Jesse tipped his head forward, and in doing so, was fully slotted against. "I'm so sorry...and I want you back. I know--I know--you shouldn't come back to me, not after all that. But Han I'm..."

A kiss was pressed to his throat that had his breath stuttering. The familiarity made him yearn to turn around, but he knew if he did, the spell would be broken.

His voice came out cracked, whispered--a plead. "I...want to be forgiven."

The arms around him tightened in a gesture Jesse could only describe as reassuring. "Jesse, I'm sorry too."

Jesse's eyes widened.

                "I shouldn't have run away...I should have given you distance to breathe, and to let you come around to me when you weren't so wounded so we could talk." Jesse felt a cheek being pressed to his shoulder, and the warmth against his back. "But I was so scared...scared of being hurt, scared of rejection that I...I ran. I ran into the first open arms I could find."

Jesse brought his hands up to cover the one's holding onto him, covering them completely with a small squeeze, his wedding ring glimmering in the light. He couldn't help but notice his was the only one.

                "Will you come back t' me then?" Jesse asked.

There was silence...and it immediately made a wave of dread wash over him.

                "I cannot."

The gunslinger squeezed the smaller hands tighter. "Why not? I still love you! Please...come home. Come home t' me!"

A sigh. "Jesse...do you know where you are?"

                "This is just a dream...right?" Jesse gave a dry chuckle. "You're probably not even here."

Suddenly he was being spun around. His breath caught in his throat as he came face to face with his fiancé. But not as he remembered him. His hair was shaved on the sides, and long at the top--the gray wisps gone. His eyes were tired and no longer held the fire that once dwelled there. Red rimmed those eyes like he hadn't slept for weeks, and dark circles painted his under eyes like bruises. He seemed so small, and much more frail than Jesse remember--a ghost of his former self. The side of his head where the implant was looked red and irritated.

It took only a second more for Jesse to close the distance. He pulled Hanzo to his chest while ducking his head down to capture those lips he had been dreaming about for months. Hanzo didn't pull away, and he didn't protest when Jesse deepened their salty, tear stained kiss desperately. It was raw, warm, and just how he remembered.

                "My god--it's you. It's really you--"

Eventually they parted, moving so their foreheads were pressed together.

                "I miss you too," Hanzo admitted, rubbing their noses together in an affectionate gesture that was rare for the archer. "But Jesse...this is no dream. This is...an in between place, created by my mind."

Jesse tipped up Hanzo's face by the chin. "What do you mean darlin'?"

Hanzo made a face as though he wasn't convinced of it himself. "It has something to do with the dragons--that much I know. It's like a...space quiet from the storm that is the dragons--a safe place from outside stress." He paused as Jesse swiped his finger back and forth over Hanzo's lips until the archer gently batted him away. "I have met Genji in this space before. And even my father after his passing. But never...an outsider."

Jesse was about to remark about him being special, but Hanzo's words gave him pause. "Outside stress? Darlin'...What's happenin' to you then?" Hanzo stepped back gently, and Jesse found himself rooted in place when he tried to follow. "Han--"

                "They're doing a procedure on me," he explained, eyes downcast. Jesse's eyes widened. "During my fight with Genji...their hold on me slipped. They've treated me like a dog in training thus far...but now they fear I will turn on them. So they're assuming full control."

The cowboy struggled against whatever force was holding him in place, especially when he felt the temperature around him dip. "I won't let them--"

Hanzo gave a chuckle, eyes sad but appreciative. "Jesse, it's already happening. As they were knocking me out I forced myself here. The drills aren't entirely painless after all. Even here..."

Bile rose up Jesse's throat. They were modifying his fiancé, and he could feel it even in this in between place.

 _It's all my fault_.

The archer's face became incredibly serious with hints of pain etched into his eyes. "Listen. The next time we meet, I'm not going to be myself. You need to remember that." Hanzo reached out to grab either side of Jesse's face. "I will not be completely in control of my actions, and no doubt I will not be thinking clearly. I will say things to convince you otherwise, but you _cannot_ believe me."

Jesse couldn't help the whimper that escaped him. Thumbs soothed gently over his beard. He was dully aware that the wind had picked up. Hanzo was in pain, and it was showing in the landscape of his mind.

                "Jesse, it's your burden to stop me from whatever comes next. I asked Genji but...he would not end me as I asked."

Horror rippled through him. "I am _not_ killing you Hanzo!"

                "Then you condemn your teammates to death!" Hanzo yelled back angrily, enough to jar Jesse. "You have to know that it will come to that eventually! Talon is will find a twisted pleasure in pitting me against all of you, to see who breaks first. And I'm here, while I'm in my right mind, _begging_ you....if it comes to that..."

The tears started again anew. This time though Hanzo leaned up to press kisses to the streaks running down Jesse's cheeks.

                "If it comes to that...I ask you, as the man that loves me most in the world...to kill me." Hanzo continued, even as Jesse's silent tears turned into choked sobs. "I have bloodied my hands time and again with innocent blood, including Genji's. I do not wish to live, continuing to add to the blood bath. My sins have already tainted me enough for one lifetime."

                "I'll find another way," Jesse hiccupped, making Hanzo's eyes widen. "I promise you, i'll find a way to free you. I won't rest until you're home with me!"

Hanzo huffed, lips curling into a sad smile. "I see you've been working on your vows."

 He pulled his hands away, ducking his fingers down into the collar of his shirt to pull out a chain, on which dangled his engagement ring. Around them the mist that was once white had slowly become gray, and then turned to black. The white sky became more of the same, losing the warmth and being replaced by an eerie feeling of cold. All of the sunflowers bent and snapped as a wind rushed from out of nowhere, kicking up the mist into tendrils of darkness, and soon all the flowers that didn't snap withered and turned brown. Reaching out, Hanzo took one of Jesse's hands and pressed the ring into the palm. The metal felt hot--in stark contrast now with their surroundings--enough so that Jesse knew it had been pressed to his chest every day since Hanzo fled from Gibraltar.

                "Hold onto that for me. Until the day comes where I deserve it again." The archer leaned forward as the world began crashing in around them. Soft, feather light kisses were pressed to Jesse's eye lids before he stepped away. "Goodbye Anata."

Jesse's scream of protest was cut off by the screech of the wind.

-

Jesse jolted awake with a start. His body was shaking violently and drenched in sweat. His pants broke through the silence of the room. Slowly the realization of where he was sunk in. Gibraltar. He was back in Gibraltar...

                "A dream--" he panted heavily.

 He was still in his bed, stripped down to his boxers, sheets tangled around his legs as evidence of his fitful sleep. His entire body felt wound tight like he had run a marathon, and his throat hurt as though he had really been screaming. The dream had been so vivid, he could almost say he felt the warm spots where Hanzo had pressed his lips to his skin. Reaching out to his nightstand, he tapped his phone to reveal the time--4:26am, still way too early to be awake. How he wish he had never woken. To stay in that place with Hanzo...even just a second more would have been a blessing. For him to be alive and talking to him...to have forgiven him of all things...But it was all just a dream. There were no in between places, no warnings, no vows.

                "Just a dream..."

He went to get up, to swing his legs over the bed so he could fetch a glass of water, but when his hand moved on the mattress, he felt something underneath his palm. Jesse picked up what was on the bed and reached over to flick on the bedside light.

When the light came on, and he saw what was in his hand, he immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.

 In his hand, still warm from being warn, a familiar ring dangled from a silver chain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could any of you guess what inspired this scene?
> 
> If any of you guessed Final Fantasy then you'd be correct! The scene in FF7: Advent Children where Cloud is back to back with Aeris was very powerful for me, especially since, like Jesse, Cloud was seeking forgiveness as well. Say what you will, but that movie is still pretty good in my opinion. It comes from a series with lots of honey nut feelios. Another inspiration for this--along the same lines--also stemmed from Luna's death in FF15. I didn't personally play it, but I've seen the scene and I crieddddd. Square Enix sure loves those other worldly flower scenes!
> 
> At any rate, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. There shouldn't be too many left.....


	13. Once Upon a Dream Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I had planned for this portion of the fic I had considered making into just one chapter, but after I started writing I figured it would be best to break into two or three parts so it's not too much solid text to read through. This adventure in Eichenwalde has been an idea in my mind since the conception of From Hanamura with Love. It has gone through many iterations, with things being added and taken away, but there were things I wanted to express between Hanzo and Jesse, and something I neeeeeed to happen...
> 
> I hope you all enjoy. And I know some things are kind of vague in this chapter at times, but I promise things will be explained in time.
> 
> Edit: Posted this just in time to watch the Houston Outlaws match. Ayyyyyyyy

_Several months later…_

Few things attracted rich people quite like parties. There was something about being able to dress in the their finest clothes, jewels, and accessories—to look as damn close to a peacock showing off for a potential mate—that really was appealing. Perhaps it was the snob in them that wanted to show off just how much their money could afford them; after all, pictures of yachts and foreign houses only allowed for so much.  Then of course there were the conversations. Some stood around their peers, putting on a brilliant show of what words they had looked up before arriving, all in a desperate attempt seem twice as intelligent as they truly were—nobody wanted to be the fool. Beside the intellectuals were the warriors who retold their one tale of heroism that earned them this scar, or that award, or more common yet—those who talked about how _profitable_ the war with the omnics had been for them. All in all the parties held by those of wealth and those of power were more a flaunt of what each person possessed father than any sort of friendship or partnership between any peoples.

This gathering in Eichenwalde Castle was no different.

The famous town had fallen years before to the omnic onslaught, and evidence of the fighting still scarred the landscape. Some of the buildings merely looked abandoned with missing shingles on the roof, broken glass windows, or maybe paint too faded and chipped to be part of a well-managed home. Others had holes blown in them from bastions and their cannons from years before, whiles others had their roof tops collapse entirely. Deep tread marks and holes made a lot of the road impossible for vehicles to navigate through most of the town from when the omnics stormed the town on their way towards Stuttgart, and where the Crusaders of Germany had bravely held their ground, hammer in hand. Although the omnics had been ultimately defeated, the toll on the town had been devastating. With so much structural damage normal citizens had been forbidden to return, but with the fighting going to other parts of Germany, the government relief hadn’t come. The people who had survived and evacuated were kept from returning home, and many moved on with their lives. On top of this, no people meant no business. Hence Eichenwalde became a ghost town. The castle had been sparred a lot of damage and was in relatively good shape, so it wasn't too much of a surprise to anyone when a descendant of the family that had once occupied it came forwards with hopes of reclaiming Eichenwalde from the encroaching Black Forest. Over the years since the people had left, the forest had snuck closer and closer, spreading its vines, leaves, and grass closer and closer towards the town, and in a few years would have been pretty deeply ingrained. This relative, Bismarck Strauss VI, was wealthy in his own right (dirty money from the war, some people insisted), and in a matter of a few years had restored his family's castle to its former glory. The stones that made of the building had been inspected for damage from the Crusader versus omnic fighting, the gas lamp covers replaced, the tapestries stitched together hundreds of years before rehanged with care. But what use was a nice castle if there was nobody to show it off to?

And so Herr Strauss saw fit to throw a gala. From around the world he invited friends and friends, beautiful models and famous musicians, sports icons to the faces of big business. In short, anyone who was anyone got an invite. The invites however were more of an announcement that this event was occurring. Those invited bought tickets, in which the proceeds were advertised as going towards restoration efforts for the rest of Eichenwalde. Of course the internet was buzzing with excitement over the thought of the once abandon town being restored to its former glory.

Less amused by these efforts was Talon. Always looking to profit wherever they could, the abandon city seemed promising as a base of operations in Germany. They wouldn’t have to evict any residents, and already they had natural defenses against invasion by the way of the encroaching Black Forest. A foothold in Germany would prove useful in the fact that it would been towards the center of Europe and could prove as a hub and crossroads between their different facilities. A rich man trying to reanimate the city was definitely a monkey wrench in those plans. And they simply could not allow for that.

Winter had slowly ebbed into sweeter, warmer weather, making for warm days and cool nights. The forest sieging Eichenwalde was alive in various shades of green as Germany entered spring, like a blanket to the horizon, secluding the town from view until a person was nearly entering it. Although the town still lay as it had for many years, visitors could see the lights coming from Eichenwalde castle for miles. One path into down had been laid with new asphalt to create two lanes—one in, one out—in which visitors had to come up. They wound through a lesser destroyed part of town, passing by a famous Crusader watering hole, before going around a guard tower and coming to stop just before a large stone bridge. At this point drivers were asked to let out their passengers; those that drove themselves went and parked in neat rows, but most had hired drivers who were asked to go back out of town where there was a clearing for them to sit until their clients were ready to go. Ladies and gentlemen of various ages all walked the bridge towards the extremely large doors to the front of the castle. Each party-goer was dressed more richly than the last, with men in suits that cost as much as a common man might make in a year, while the women wore dresses and jewels the likes of which some people would never see in their lifetime. Colors of the outfits varied, as did how much skin they covered. Regardless, brightly colored paper lanterns hung on wire that led down the length of the bridge, all the way to the security checks stationed right outside the door.

If the outside approach to castle did not fill a guest with awe, the sheer splendor of the interior was sure to. Long gone was the dreary interior, covered with moss and mildew from disuse. Lights filled every room and every hall of the labyrinth like castle--modern fixtures disguised as antique gas lights, with stain glass windows higher up that would allow sunlight in if it were daytime. Most of the stone floor was original just fixed up, although some of the bedrooms had been covered mostly by designer throw rugs--similar to the long red and gold ones that ran down the center of each hall. There were more rooms (all of varying sizes) than most people could count, most of which were just used as lounge areas with luxury furniture in them for sitting with guests. Tapestries of old hung in the mains halls, reflecting ancestry and the pride in Germany. People sat in these rooms off to the side in cliques and talked over drinks, while others stood around off to the side in the hallways. Waiters and waitresses flitted about serving drinks off of silver platters while security guards tried to remain a constant but safe presence. Deeper into the castle there were game rooms in which roulette and poker tables had been set up, and it was from here a good majority of the noise came from. There was also--perhaps this being the largest area--an open space filled with circular tables covered in fine linen cloth, with glasses and candles on in which people dined.

Everything about this gala screamed opulence.

Normally the main door was where every guest entered and exited the castle—as to prevent any mischief from sneaking in. However, a continently left open side door used by the hired help allowed for a pair to circumvent this security check. Nobody noticed a thing as a man and woman slipped out of the servant hallway and melted seamlessly into the crowd that was making their way into the castle. Everything about the woman spoke of elegance. Her figure resembled that of an hour glass, with her chest looking soft--full in her mandarin styled dress, her slim sides leading down to an ample waist, before the eyes were pulled down smooth long legs. Long dark hair trailed down her back looking like spilled ink with the way it shined as she walked. Her dress was made of dark purple silk, trimmed with black accents, with a design of black lilies making a pattern at the bottom. Her long legs were covered with dark gray pantyhose, and her small feet were shoved into simple black high heels. The touch of red lips stick finished off her look, making her look positively regal and lethal in a beautiful sort of way when paired with her sharp, cat-like eyes. A fur throw was pulled around her shoulders, obscuring the spider tattoo that could be seen through the back cut out of her dress, although the same could not be said for the ink scribbled across the skin of her forearm. Her companion was no less beautiful. He too at long black hair, although whereas she wore hers pulled back away from her face, he wore his long, flopped off to the side, revealing a shaved side of his head. He stood slightly shorter than his lady in black pants, with a white dress shirt. Like his date, this man sported an hourglass figure with his broad shoulders and narrow waist, shown off further by the tight red and black silk vest that hugged his torso like a second skin. The high tech silver watch that adorned his left wrist was easily as expensive as any of the jewelry on his companion, and he made a habit of checking the time every so often by tapping the side of it to make the clock face light up the same light blue as his eyes. Together they gave off the appearance of a couple both in the upper echelons of society with immense wealth at their fingertips. Neither of these things had been true for either the man or woman in quite some time however. 

The woman looped an arm around her companion as they made their way down one of the many people packed halls. Instrumental music could be heard wafting in from deeper in the castle over the drone of the mixing conversations around them. She drew him gently out of the flow of people, over to the wall to admire themselves in one of the several full length mirrors mounted there. Around the length of silver was a frame of ornate gold, flanked at the top by two cherubs holding a flute and lyre respectively. Several more identical mirrors dotted the hall in even intervals down its length.

Carefully she tucked a fallen piece of hair behind her ear while studying herself in the mirror. “This place is so beautiful Aaya. I’m almost ashamed we will have to go back to our own home, looking how it does.” Her accent was French, soft, and sweet.

The man straightened out the red tie looped around his neck. “Perhaps we should hire an interior decorator,” he suggested, his accent much different. Japanese in fact. “We could model it after this castle…or perhaps Versailles? Or perhaps a Roman—“

The other couple that had been standing near the wall close by wandered away, leaving the two isolated. Their faces remained happy facades gazing in the mirror, but their once cheerful tones broke down. “There are more people here than I anticipated,” Widowmaker remarked dryly with a tap of a long manicured finger to the nearly invisible bud in her ear.

                " _I'm sorry_ ," came Sombra's voice over the com, " _There must have been some last minute RSVPs--"_

Hanzo snorted. "It should make little difference. Do you have sights on our host?"

There was a pause and the sound of acrylic nails flying across a keyboard. " _Looks like he's having cocktail shrimp towards the ballroom. He's in a....wow, what the hell is this, 2017? He's in a floral suit jacket. Hard to miss._ "

                "And our equipment?" The two had been sent in weaponless--since it would be a little difficult to conceal a bow or sniper rifle on either one of them. Talon had an agent working in the kitchen who was supposed to have smuggled their gear in.

They could hear Sombra smirking through their coms. _"Came in with a shipment of tomatoes this morning. You'll have to meet up with Dover in the kitchen so he can point you to where he stashed it."_

The archer turned to his fellow sniper and gently took her hand. In her eyes was for a brief moment was the undeniable flicker of something akin to anger for someone touching her, but it quickly soothed away. Some reflexes were hard to kill. He pressed his lips gently to her hand, right beside the large fake diamond that served as her wedding ring. "Shall we go grabs some drinks my dear?"

* * *

 

                “I’ll get y’ another flute of champaign sir.”

Jesse typically liked undercover missions. Like a deadly game of dress up, where the goal was to become another person enough to fool someone into believe the ruse. Back in Blackwatch the cowboy had been one of the better undercover agents. He had a handsome yet rough face—too rough to be upper class, but too pretty to be a thug (or so he liked to boast), and with his accent he was quick to charm his way through hostile environments. Also perhaps contrary to what people may think, he knew several different trades, or rather, enough to trick someone into believing he was a master, and he knew a couple languages—which came in handy more than once. However, out of all the uncover jobs he had taken over the years, being a waiter was always his least favorite. There was something about the uniform that always made him feel uptight, too straight-laced; maybe it was the tucked in shirt? He usually had to shave his beard off too—although he had managed to keep it just this once, and they always made him slick his hair back with hair product that left his hair feeling sticky and greasy. Then, to top off feeling utterly ridiculous and uncomfortable, he was forced to be overly nice to people who didn’t deserve the time of day. It would be one thing perhaps if he got to keep his tips, but usually they fell by the wayside whenever he had to make an escape.

Strauss’ gala was no different. The cowboy had been shoved into black slacks and a white button up shirt, while an apron was tied around his waist and shoved full of pens and extra notepads for scribbling down orders. He had to be a least a bit proficient at his job or else he would be ‘fired’ and ruin their mission. Overwatch was backing Strauss under the table, fully supporting his desire to rebuild Eichenwalde, but just as important was the need to keep it protected from Talon, whom they knew probably had the town within their sights for some time now. Overwatch had considered making Eichenwalde a base of operations, but due to lack of funding had to scrap the idea; they could only fathom a rival group that seemed to actually have money would have thought of the same idea. Although they had to keep themselves hidden from the public eye, there were those who knew Overwatch was out there, and some, like Strauss, welcomed them as the heroes they once were. The Strauss family had dealings with Overwatch in the past, and the fact that two Crusaders who had fought to protect Eichenwalde had ties to the group only sweetened the relationship.

And that was why as rich ladies and gentlemen got to sit around at dinner tables wining and dining, Jesse McCree was stuck trying to remember which old lady got the steam broccoli and chicken, and which guest had asked for more wine. Or was it a mojito?

The night was in full swing and the dining area was packed. Hardly a seat could be spared as there were so many guests in attendance. Among those there were Overwatch's own Satya, Angela, and Mei, masquerading as wealthy guests. They sat at a small table together, sipping sparkling cider in between bites of salmon and giggles over small talk. Jesse could only huff and wonder why _he_ couldn't just be a wealthy guest too. He had to admit though, seeing the girls smiling and decked out in jewelry (even if the gems were fake) and beautiful dresses did make him smile; they were hard workers and deserved a break from work. Genji was outside of the castle, hiding in one of the dilapidated buildings, _sulking_. With his appearance not fully omnic, and not fully human, Jack had been convinced that he would have stuck out too much at the gala, so he was assigned to a perimeter watch. Jesse could only snicker thinking of his friend huffing and puffing as he watched the entrance through binoculars.

With how many tables needed attending, each waiter was assigned six that they would bounce between. When one table was finished eating, it would be quickly cleaned up by another part of the staff and before having another party sat down. Strauss had not dictated a dinner time; he merely left it open for as long as the gala waged, so Jesse was kept constantly busy with only small breaks while food was being cooked in the kitchen. He saw one of his tables had been cleared off--one of the small two seaters--and he prepared himself as he saw one of the hostess girls bringing a couple over and seating them. The agent took a deep breath to prepare his accent and pull his pen and notepad from his apron. He approached the couple who seemed to be murmuring to one another.

                "Good evening," he said in what he hoped was a convincing German accent. "Can I get you all something to drink to start off?"

The woman went first, her golden eyes not leaving the small laminated menu in her hands. "Red wine," she stated. "Something dry."

Jesse wrote that down diligently. "And you Sir?"

                "Scotch on the rocks."

The voice that came out of the manmade Jesse almost drop his pen. He could only hope that neither of them saw his eyes snap up from his paper. Hanzo's name almost tumbled out of Jesse's slack mouth. The man sitting at the table _right there_ was none other than his fiancé. But again, as seemed to be the pattern with all their encounters, Hanzo looked different than before. If anything Jesse had to admit that the man looked better than he did previously; his cheeks were no longer sunken in, his eyes no longer looked tired, and if he was being honest, Hanzo looked _good_. Even with the strange icy blue contact lenses. The formal attire fit him well and made him look very well put together and unassuming at this gala, and the cologne the archer had dabbed on himself smelled expensive and good. But for the fact that Hanzo was here, it made Jesse look at the archer's companion out of the corner of his eye. It took a moment to place why she looked so familiar yet different, and he finally figured out it was because her skin was actually a healthy peach color as opposed to its normal blue hue. Widowmaker.

Jesse's mouth clicked shut before he could say anything stupid. Neither had made any comments towards him to indicate they knew who he was--he had to use this to his advantage.

                "Coming right up. I shall give you all a moment to look over the menu."

Jesse tried to seem calm as he wandered back to the bar to put in the door. He couldn't help but glance back at the table longingly. His fiancé had one leg cross over the other primly, and he was smiling at something Widowmaker said. He then reached across the table, taking her left hand in his and, much to Jesse's horror, pressed his lips to her knuckles. The shine of the diamond drew in Jesse's eye and immediately he felt a pang of jealous go through his stomach. _How dare she_. _He_ was the one engaged to Hanzo! A slow flush of quiet, bubbling rage crawled up his neck as his mind ran rampant with ideas of the two of them together. Did he smile for her all the time? Were they the same secret smiles Jesse and him used to share in quiet moments? Did he enjoy her company? Her humor? _Did she even have humor?_ His fists quietly clenched beside him. Did they sleep together? Hanzo looked so handsome in the dim room, candle light casting warm shadows across his face. Even if he wasn't smiling at least his brows were pulled together in that angry scowl he often defaulted to. Jesse had to violently fight down the urge to bolt over to the table and take that face in his hands and kiss him silly--especially given the 'dream'  in which he had talked with Hanzo last.

_I will not be completely in control of my actions, and no doubt I will not be thinking clearly. I will say things to convince you otherwise, but you cannot believe me._

What was going on in Hanzo head now? Hanzo had warned him of the procedure and what would be the eventual results.

Jesse huffed softly before slipping back through the kitchen and out the side door under the guise of smoke break. Once he made sure he was alone, tucked against the side of the building, he tapped his com.

                "Guys, y' ain't gonna believe this."

* * *

 

Her hand was cold against his lips and tasted faintly of the foundation that covered her body. She was beautiful, Hanzo would give her that, but his fake wife hardly made his pulse jump any. Not that much did anymore.

He had lost track of when it happened, but he had woken up from a sleep, finding himself in Moira’s office when he opened his eyes. His head hurt on the side in a square patch—almost as if something had been torn from there, and when he grazed the spot with his fingers he could feel the ridges of stitches. As for what had been there however, he found he couldn’t remember. And, if he tried to remember what he had been doing before he woke up, he found a blank. Hanzo had sat there in Moira’s office for a long time, staring into her inquisitive eyes, wondering why he suddenly felt…empty, as if a large part of him was gone. He knew who he was—Hanzo Shimada, ex heir of the infamous yakuza clan based in Hanamura, Japan. He could remember clearly murdering his brother—a pivotal point in his life—at the demands of the clan elders. The overwhelming guilt following the action still gave him the acidy feeling up the length of his throat if he thought about it too long. He had roamed like a nomad for the better part of a decade taking mercenary jobs for cash to keep afloat, but after that…everything grew fuzzy and muddled.

Sometimes he got odd flashes of images or feelings while he was awake, often unprompted, like an old Polaroid photo left out in the sun. The cry of gulls at the beach. The soft yellow light of a healing orb. The smell of peanut butter. The clink of metal accompanying footsteps. And the one that confused him the most—a blurred face above his, dark around the edges towards the bottom, and a smooth voice, too quiet to hear, but with a tone that sounds…loving. And the smell of smoke that made him feel nostalgic. When Moira checked in on him daily to ask how he was, the archer never once mentioned these things. The doctor seemed content enough when he told her that the pain had stopped on the side of his head after three days, he didn’t feel the need to trouble her with these meaningless things. If they had a meaning, he would unravel their mystery himself.  

Even though she was happy with what seemed like progress with him (over what he had no idea), there was one burning question he had.

                “Where are my dragons?” he had asked upon waking. He might not remember much, but he knew of the ancient spirit dragons that used to writhe under his skin. Their presence had always been there, from the day they manifested in him as a child. Sojiro had said that only with his death would they part with him. But if that was the case, where were they?

That’s when Moira asked, “Are you familiar with Overwatch?”

A rogue organization, he was informed. They had once been heroes during the Omnic War, but they became corrupt, too concerned with forwarding their own agenda, that in their greed they turned against those that truly needed their protection. Villains, Moira had called them, liars of the worst kind, and violent to boot.

Moira had stroked the side of his face, seeing the confusion in his eyes. “They took your dragons from you,” she informed him. “They took you away from us during a botched mission…and they did such terrible things to you. The monster that your brother turned into…he took them with the help of another.”

His brother. The image of an omnic looking being floated up to the surface of his mind. That’s right. After he had ‘killed’ Genji, Overwatch had picked him up and gave him a new robotic body. Genji had his own dragon, a green one, which Hanzo remembered from their youth. How had he managed to steal his own two?

The doctor reached over to the table and picked up her holopad. With a few swipes she brought up a screen showing the bounty for a rugged looking man with a wide-ish nose, brown hair, and charming eyes. Hanzo never said it aloud, but his first thought had been that the man was roguishly handsome. “Jesse McCree. This is the American that lured you in and helped Genji rip your dragons from you,” he was informed gravely. “We are still trying to find a way to return them…”

It had taken days to fill him in on everything. How Overwatch had experimented on him, nearly ruined him for good, but Talon had saved him. He had been with Talon for years now—an important part of their team, he was assured. He had to re-learn much about Talon, but his body seemed to remember quicker than his mind. Hanzo found himself falling easily into training routines and something akin to a schedule. Names of his teammates were already on his tongue before he felt he had even remembered them. Sometimes he felt a bit off, as if something didn’t sit right with him. And that what had been happening all night. It was as if there was a static sort of feeling in the air, as if something was amiss but he couldn’t pinpoint why.

Until he glimpsed their waiter at the bar. The man had taken their drink orders easily enough, without much small talk, but for some reason, Hanzo got the impression that his voice didn’t match the face. It was all wrong. Their waiter had disappeared for a bit, but upon his return Hanzo carefully eyed him. Tall, with bronze skin, a slightly wide nose, warm brown eyes, and the crinkle of smile lines on the outside corners of his eyes. He was so familiar that Hanzo could practically feel the scruff of the man’s beard on his fingers. Even his cologne that lingered from when he had been at the table was so familiar that it made him feel at ease—almost like it smelled like home. But he couldn’t let himself get distracted by a handsome face. He was there to ask the host of the evening to join Talon’s efforts. Talon knew he was being backed by Overwatch, and with that in mind they told Hanzo and Widowmaker that if Strauss refuses their offer, they were to eliminate him; he the man was comfortable being funded by bad people, that made him no different.

The man came back to take their orders a couple minutes later while bringing them their drinks. Widowmaker easily took to her wine, but Hanzo found himself just holding the cool glass and swishing around its amber colored content. Scotch. He much preferred sake. So why he had asked for scotch was beyond him. Again, in a frustrating way, it felt nostalgic. There was so much he couldn’t remember.

                “Are y’all ready to order?” the waiter asked.

 _Y’all_.

Widowmaker began ordering, purring out the name of her French dish as natural as could be. But Hanzo felt his tongue heavy in his mouth. Oh, this night got entirely more interesting. The archer downed a long gulp of his scotch, blue eyes flicking up at the waiter. The moment the glass touched back down on the table, a coy smile pulled up the corner of Hanzo’s mouth and a tongue flicking out slightly to catch a drop of scotch that was on his bottom lip. The movement immediately drew the waiter’s gaze.

_Interesting._

                “Why yes. I know _exactly_ what I want.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I couldn't find a place for but wanted to include: 
> 
> As seen in the Reinhardt cinematic, Balderich collapsed into the chair at the end of his battle, and even years later it appeared that his armor (and presumably his body inside the armor) was still there. When Strauss reclaims the castle after years of abandonment, he gives Balderich a proper burial in the Eichenwalde graveyard, but keeps the armor on display with a small plaque under it, with a couple lines about the bravery of the Crusaders and Balderich Von Adler during the battle against the omnics in Eichenwalde.


	14. Once Upon a Dream Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look I'm back. Sorry for the delay, but I had a severe writer's block in how I wanted to do this chapter. It wasn't as if I didn't know what I wanted...but I couldn't find a good way to go about it. So this is what I decided upon!
> 
> Without spoiling anything, when I mention the mafia song, it's this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbSMCyJkUmI
> 
> I wrote the entire last portion of this chapter to this song and I can only hope it shows lol.

Being so close and yet unable to touch him or to hold him was absolute torture. Jesse could feel that familiar buzz of static up his limbs and down his back as if the dragons themselves were acknowledging him every time he came to the table to refill drinks or hand off their meals. He had to wonder: could Hanzo feel it too? Even if he didn’t recognize Jesse, did he feel the tingle of electric whenever they were close? The cowboy couldn’t help but linger a little—to try and make small talk with the archer. Every word, no matter how small, that Hanzo dropped was music to Jesse’s ears. But he had to admit that the touches and laughs between the two Talon---no, Hanzo wasn’t Talon, Jesse argued—snipers made him grit his teeth. Hanzo was not one of them; his darling, his fiancé was above such things.

  
As much as he wanted to stay and pay special attention to his fiancé and bring him back where he belonged, he had to tread carefully; Hanzo was too clever for his own good, and there was a strong possibility that if Jesse was too obvious in his attention to him that archer would figure out who he was. Jesse hopped between a couple tables, but his attention kept straying back to the two making eyes at each other across the candlelit tables. And, much to Jesse’s dismay, their dinner couldn’t possibly last forever. After the last bit of alcohol was drained from their cups, Hanzo was taking Widow’s pale hand in his, pressing those familiar lips to it, then murmuring something to her while his mouth quirked up into a seductive smile. Even if it wasn’t directed at Jesse, he could only helplessly remember all the similar smiles that Hanzo used to give him, and where they would often lead. Jesse’s belly felt the burning coil of jealousy as Hanzo led Widow away from the table and out of the room, hand in hand like lovers.   
This sucks. Jesse thought sourly, kicking the swinging kitchen door with frustration. He was so close yet so far away. But there was nothing he could do. Except wait. 

* * *

  
The night was in at the very beginning of winding down. Some guests had already left, but the party still raging as food kept being severed, liquor kept flowing, and music kept playing. People were crammed in around Jesse at the bar—leaning around him to motion for the busy bartenders to serve them while the cowboy gone waiter tried to keep his own drink from being knocked into by elbows. When he ended up at the bar Jesse couldn’t say. It was late in the night, his feet were throbbing with how long he had been on them waiting tables, and his mood had only gotten worse and worse after he saw Hanzo leaving with Widowmaker.

  
Where are they now? Jesse had to wonder. In one hand he rolled back and forth a cup of whiskey splashed with coke and ice, in the other was a smoking cigar. The whiskey tasted sweet and crisp on his tongue as he took another well-deserved sip before placing the sweating glass back down on its napkin. He knew he probably shouldn’t be drinking—especially since Talon was definitely here—but he had hoped it would calm his nerves and the cacophony of thoughts going on inside his mind. The bar area that Jesse had found an open spot at was in the same room as the musicians and the dance floor, so all around him was loud to an almost disorienting degree as people tried to talk over the sighs of violins and tweets of flute players. At least the lights were kept rather dim. There were a couple open seats at the bar from a group that got up, but the room itself was rather packed with people in various states of drunkenness. It could not be said that the rich in attendance didn’t know how to party.

  
He sat in his stool, elbows propped up on the wood counter in front of him, cigar pressed absent-mindedly to his lips as he stared at the German news displayed on a television behind the counter. Not that he understood but a couple words displayed on the screen but it was a welcome distraction from this mission from hell. Where was their host anyway? The man was supposed to meet with them periodically so they could ensure he was safe. Jesse had met with him briefly before the party began, but hadn’t seen the man in the floral suit in many hours. Had he been checking in with the others?

  
Jesse was about to set his glass and cigar down and message Angela for an update when he felt a familiar rush of static moving down his limbs. He froze in the motion of putting down his cup when he heard a voice, clearly, even through the loud din of the room.

  
“A cowboy drinking alone at the bar. How fitting.”

  
A body suddenly filled the empty void on the stool at his left. Just like in his dream—which was still so vivid in his mind—Jesse was hesitant to turn to face Hanzo. He knew this was reality, and yet he feared to look at him might turn Hanzo to dust in the wind and make the search continue yet again.

  
“I…don’t know what yer talkin’ about,” Jesse said calmly. But the shaking of the ice in his glass from his unsteady hands spoke of how calm he truly was.

  
Hanzo made a humming noise as he settled on the wooden stool, crossing one leg over the other and swishing around his higher held foot. He looked like a yakuza lord, dressed to the hilt in a suit that was obviously measured and tailored to accentuate everything good about his body from the angle of his hips, to the swell of his chest, to even the muscles of his legs. The man radiated opulence, from the knot of his tie down to the silk socks barely visible between his pants leg and his buffed shoes. Jesse had to admit though, when he finally found the courage to look the Japanese man in the eye, the icy blue color there was unnerving. Talon had pulled out all the stops to make the archer look a combination of handsome and lethal, and they had managed to pull it off in spades. Even the dim and multicolored lighting at the bar helped cast him in a light that showed off the shallows of his cheeks, the straight jut of his jaw, the curve of his neck leading down into the collar of his shirt. Jesse had to swallow down the strong urge to pepper kisses down the talon agent’s neck.

  
_Darlin', just look at you..._

  
“Oh?” Hanzo had a small curve to his smile that often appeared when he was being coy with Jesse. “And pray tell, where does that lovely accent come from in Germany?” When he saw Jesse’s nervous smile completely slip away to a serious expression, Hanzo turned to the bartender and motioned for a drink. While the man behind the counter fixed him up something, the archer placed his pointer finger into his one ear. Soon after a small black bud was dropped onto the counter. A listening device. With a soft voice, Hanzo whispered, “I’m not here to hurt you McCree.”

  
Hearing his names dropped by those lips made Jesse’s heart miss a beat. “Then what are y’ here for darlin’?” Jesse asked. What was Hanzo’s motives behind approaching him? Jesse would have been none the wiser if Hanzo had chosen to avoid him following dinner. And yet here he was, approaching him at the bar as if they weren’t batting for two different teams. As if Jesse hadn’t tried to hurt him. As if he hadn’t ran away.

  
The bartender slipped Hanzo a whiskey and coke—same as Jesse, but one taste had Hanzo scowling at the cup. “This tastes awful. Swill...”

  
At least he still has the stick up his ass, Jesse thought almost fondly. “Dover wasn’t scheduled to work the bar,” Jesse shrugged since the man was out of earshot. “Probably doesn’t know how to mix.” His expression softened from outright caution to sad reflection, brows knitting together. “Y’ didn’t mind ‘em too much when I made ‘em.”

  
Hanzo took a long gulp of the brown-black liquid before turning his attention—and body—towards Jesse. His blue eyes swept up and down the cowboy as if measuring him up to take a bite. And Jesse found that he hoped he would. The static was still gently caressing up and down Jesse’s arms, but Hanzo made no indication that he felt anything out of the ordinary. “I knew who you were the moment I saw you,” the archer told him, making Jesse cringe.

  
“I thought I did a pretty good job at hidin’,” Jesse grumbled. Despite Hanzo being a trained killer and on the enemy team, Jesse couldn’t help himself as he relaxed back into his company. The man beside him was so familiar it was easy to slip back into a state of mind where they were still engaged…that Hanzo hadn’t been in Talon’s clutches for months now.

  
The archer chuckled. “I’m afraid not.” With his left elbow propped up on the bar, Hanzo turned to his right and stared up into Jesse’s eyes, and Jesse—like a moth to a flame—found he couldn’t look away. “Talon may have messed with my head,” Hanzo said, tapping the side of his head that once had the chip for good measure, “but I can certainly remember you. How you look. How you sound. How you smell…” The cowboy saw as those pink lips parted ever so slightly and the tip of his tongue swiped across in a quick little showing that had Jesse’s stomach doing eager flips. “How you taste.”

  
If Jesse thought he had been slick before in hiding his identity from Hanzo, he knew the reason behind him shifting uncomfortably in his seat would be apparent to him. The thought that his brainwashed fiancé still knew him so intimately stirred something selfish and animalistic in him. That’s right. You can’t forget about me. He wanted to say smugly. But he smartly held his tongue. Instead, he lit another cigar and shoved the end between his lips.

  
Hanzo took another gulp, emptying his glass. He leaned in close, eyes quickly darting around to scan the faces around them before going back up to Jesse’s eyes. “When they did their last adjustment on my chip, the technician messed up,” Hanzo explained, voice low. There was something conspiratory in the archer's tone that had Jesse's full attention--had him shifting closer to shorten the space between their bodies. “They do not know, but I can remember everything.” Carefully and slowly Hanzo’s hand went forward on the tabletop, only to enclose around Jesse’s metal one, which was balled up into a quivering fist. There was a jolt of static at the touch, followed by a wave of warmth that soaked deep down into Jesse’s core. “I know you loved me.”

  
“Love,” Jesse found himself blurting out. This was the closest they had been...Since London, Jesse realized. The touch felt better than anything Jesse had felt since the man left, save for perhaps their shared kiss in the in-between space. But this was so real, so warm--it as here and now physical... “I still love y’. I never stopped.”

  
The archer looked a little surprised, but after a soft huff, he was scooting even closer on his seat to the point their knees were touching. It was a simple movement, one under normal circumstances would have meant nothing. But to Jesse, who had been touch starved for months from the man he loved more than anything, the contact of their hands and legs was practically sending sparks through him. It took a lot of effort to hold himself back from closing the distance full body. Instead, he moved to brush some of the hair out of his lover’s face.

  
The surprise on Hanzo’s face turned into amusement. “‘Still’ you say, and yet, were you not the one who hated me most for killing Genji? My hands have only gotten dirtier in our time apart.” Jesse cringed and slowly withdrew his hand. The retort felt like a stinging slap to the face, and worse, they were not unprovoked. Or untrue. Hanzo didn’t remove himself from Jesse’s space—in fact, he shifted even closer so it would be obvious to any onlooker that they were more than comfortable with one another. “You should want to imprison me as you would Widow, or Doomfist.” He snickered as if the thought was funny. But whether it was the thought of Overwatch catching Widowmaker and Doomfist or himself being imprisoned by Jesse, McCree couldn’t tell.

  
The chance to change the subject leaped at Jesse, and he was more than eager to take it. “Where is your little sniper buddy?” he grumbled, casting his eyes around. Although she lacked her normal cold skin façade, she had been wearing quite the get-up at dinner—which would make her easy to find. He half expected her to be close by, watching with those deadly eyes of hers and that smile-less mouth.

  
Hanzo made a fluffing off gesture. “Somewhere, doing work more than likely. I told her I was scouting to see what the Overwatch agents were up to.” His eyes flicked up Jesse yet again, sending the cowboy’s cheeks a peachy pink shade. “It was not a total lie.”

  
Red-faced, Jesse motioned for another round of drinks, which were quickly handed over. Hanzo took his in hand, but before he could knock it back, Jesse was clearing his throat and clinking their glasses together. “To reuniting,” before he chugged the whiskey and coke like a college boy.

  
He was leveled with a gaze that seemed troubled, but it was quickly replaced with something entirely more…alluring. “Are you jealous cowboy?” he snickered. When Jesse shifted and continued to work at his drink, Hanzo actually gave a snort of a laugh. “You are. You’re jealous of Widowmaker.”

  
"Well sorry if you two eye fuckin' over dinner didn't sit well with me," the cowboy half growled.

  
The tone didn't phase Hanzo who continued to chuckle in the low, private way he did. "We were playing the part of husband and wife. Nothing more."

  
Jesse couldn't help the scowl the creased his brow. _Maybe I'm afraid someone else can make you happy in ways I couldn't--_

  
Jesse's thought were derailed as the archer reached out in the space between them--what little of it there was--and plucked the cigar from Jesse's mouth. The cowboy watched a little slack-jawed as his fiancé pressed the cigar--thicker than the cigarette's Hanzo would sometimes indulge in--to his lips. It was as if the entire party fell away from them as if the two seats at the bar were part of a different space and time entirely. The conversations around them sounded muffled, and even the orchestra and their rendition of the love theme from a popular mafia movie from decades past was only a far-off buzz in his ear. But that music did give the honey slow movements of his lover a nice touch. Jesse could hear the soft inhale of the smoke into Hanzo's mouth as if it were a horn beckoning men to war--

  
_And if it were to for you darlin', I would siege all of Troy._

  
And when their eyes met--Jesse could feel the call to war settling low in his belly.

  
_I will fight to win you back._

  
Perhaps he was spurred on by the fire beginning to kindle and burn in Jesse's eyes, but Jesse saw Hanzo lean forward slowly, yet quicker than anything else in the room. Finally, Hanzo stopped staring into Jesse's eyes, instead gazing down at Jesse's parted lips. Those slender fingers on the hand not occupied by the smoking cigar looped behind Jesse's head, weaving through the brown locks there and cradling his head while bringing it closer.

  
The moment their lips met had Jesse closing his eyes and giving the smallest whine. Warm. They were warm. Why had he feared them cold like Widow's skin? Hanzo's lips parted and Jesse eagerly opened his own.  
Oh honey, you set my skin on fire...You've always been my worst habit. The hardest to break...Memories of kiss after kiss shared in Gibraltar bubbled up, side by side with the grins, shoulder pats, and warm embraces they shared on missions. Sunny days, lips locked, fingers woven together on the sheets...

  
Drinks were forgotten on the counter. The two scooted closer to tangle their legs together, closing the space between them as their lips pressed firmly together, slowly, unrushed, like sipping a good smooth whiskey. The smoke rolled over Hanzo's tongue, darting into Jesse's own to swirl around, to knock into his teeth, to caress the roof of his mouth with a smoky burn before Hanzo pulled away.

  
"Fuck..." The word tumbled out along with a series of pants before Jesse was reaching out to yank him back into a heated and smoky kiss. Hanzo went along with an eager groan in the back of his throat. McCree firmly cupped Hanzo's jaw, urging his mouth to open for his tongue again. But Hanzo refused to hasten. Instead, his tongue languidly twirled around McCree's, like a dancer, perfectly in tune with the orchestra that Jesse was only vaguely aware of. Despite the smallest nag in the back of his mind saying that this man had declared for Talon, Jesse plowed forward, hungry for the man who had run from him, while Hanzo seemed to dance around their shared desire like a leaf on water. Jesse's body ached for his lover.

  
And that ache was obvious. Jesse hissed as Hanzo's palm slid over the crotch of his tented pants, and the cowboy could feel the smirk against his lips. "Eager are we?" But before Jesse could think of a retort, Hanzo saved him the trouble. "Perhaps we could...reunite somewhere a bit more...private?"

  
The moan was obscene and drew glances from down the bar. How they must have looked. Hanzo--damn him­­­-- looked unphased, in perfect condition, cool and collected, and of course with that insufferable smirk. Jesse, on the other hand, had sweat beading on his forehead, hair at the nape of his neck sticking out at an awkward angle, and an interest that was hard to miss. Those same fingers that had plucked the cigar from his hand reached forward to curl around the tie of Jesse's waiter uniform, thumb soothing over the imitation silk in almost a tender display.

  
But the words that dripped from his tongue were anything but tender, and like Jesse's pulse, they seemed to quicken the time around them back up to normal.

  
"I want you to fuck me," Hanzo stated, tone level, only for McCree to hear, but with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, "like you used to. Remember? All those times you made love to me in our bed? On the beach?"

  
Jesse's bit his own bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth as he tried to calm his mind. There would be no living with the archer if he got himself too excited too early. "Darlin' yer killin' me...Anywhere. I'll take you--" This had to be a dream, a beautiful, torturous dream.

  
Lips found Jesse's ear, and the warm breath from Hanzo's lips whispered all sorts of filthy promises to him, things Jesse had been craving for months, and now--The open-mouthed kiss followed by the graze of teeth to his neck sealed the deal. Jesse threw a wad of bills on the counter to cover the price of their drinks before grabbing for Hanzo's hand. Hanzo went easily, his stride calm as he trailed followed Jesse away from the bar, through the couples dancing to the final sighs of a dying mafia's waltz. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O la la. 
> 
> Next chapter will be explicit :3


	15. Once Upon a Dream--Final

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in kiddos. Time for some smut.
> 
> Oh, and plot.
> 
> Oh, and violence.

But it was no dream.

  
Although it was Jesse who pulled Hanzo down the hall, eyes scanning for an open room, he felt as though it were all according to his dragon's will. Away from the bar, the cowboy managed to find a room the next floor up, a secluded little guest room towards the end of the hall, right above where the band was picking up the pace. The lock popped easily enough, even with those sinful hands darting up his chest, groping at his pecs and dragging nails greedily over the fabric of his quickly wrinkling shirt. A dark waltz could be heard through the space between the stones, giving a pace to their dance, step by step in tandem as they entered the room, with Jesse nearly tripping in his eagerness. A skilled dancer Hanzo was however--his polished shoes never came close to scuffing Jesse's, even when he stepped fully into his space to push Jesse against the closing door. Metal and flesh hands rested on Hanzo's narrow hips, fingers digging in to keep the dream in front of him and their lips met slow and deep, wet and hot.

  
The waltz below sounds deep and metal, not romantic as the one before. It was a symphony of piano, violin, and cello mixing with the deep reverberating boom of drums and the yell of electric guitars. But it was deep, alluring menacing almost--fitting, McCree couldn't help but think, because Hanzo looked like a predator when their eyes met when air was needed. A starved beast.

  
"You taste good," the archer purred. Jesse couldn't suppress the groan at seeing the tip of Hanzo's tongue dip out to drag across his lower lip.

  
McCree gulped. "Yeah sugar?"

  
Again those hands darted up Jesse's broad torso, snaking upwards, following his artery up towards his jaw where Hanzo stopped to grip. Jesse's mouth fell open a little at the pressure. Hanzo was never this...rough. He could feel the bite of nails pressing into his beard and just barely scraping the skin underneath. Hanzo leaned up on his toes to graze his teeth across the tan expanse of bared throat, and if the grin was any indication, he could feel the shiver that racked down Jesse's spine. Jesse's hands applied pressure and pulled the archer flush against them, their hips banging together roughly. Blue eyes flicked up to capture Jesse's, boring into them with a stern intention, enough so that Jesse had to look away. "Can y' take out the contacts darlin'?" At Hanzo's inquisitive brow perk Jesse elaborated with, "They're kind of freakin' me out." They weren't Hanzo.

  
The talon agent released Jesse's jaw and stepped back slightly with a chuckle, leaving a cool void behind. His fingers went up to scoop the colored lenses from his eyes, depositing them into his vest pocket for safe keeping.

  
With those golden eyes back, Jesse reached out, grabbing one of Hanzo's wrists to pull him back into his space while his other hand looped around the small of his back as if they were to dance. "There. Those are t' beautiful eyes I remember."

  
A deep drum beat down below, the tempo of a heartbeat, which had Hanzo twisting his hands to grip onto Jesse's. He positioned Jesse's flesh hand outward while he kept the metal one over his hip. With the utmost grace he took a sweeping step back, luring Jesse to follow his steps away from the door and into the room. Neither had given the room much through when they entered--they had merely been looking for somewhere private. They had ended up in a guest bedroom whose entire wall directly across from the door was covered by large windows which overlooked the gardens far below. A large ornate fire place took up a wall to the right upon entering--something that would be truly beautiful if it were lit. A bear fur rug lay in front of the fireplace with a red love seat trimmed with dark wood and a matching chair sitting nearby--a matching wood short table between them with a silver tea set placed upon it. Pillars decorated with candles and hanging plants split the room in two--one side for sleeping, the other for entertaining. The left wall had the canopy bed pushed against it, flanked by intricately carved night stands with mock oil lamps sitting on either one. Without a doubt however the bed was the center pieces of the room. The frame itself looked heavy, made of a polished dark wood, the corners pointed up like pointed towers, supporting a black lace canopy that obscured the dark sheets from view. A trunk at the base of the bed served as the place that Hanzo came to a stop at. He dropped down onto it while reeling Jesse forward, his face level with the gunslinger's belt.

  
"Disrobe," he commanded.

  
But Jesse was stuck staring down at the man before him. The moonlight was streaming in through the windows, catching on the sharp lines of his cheeks, tracing down his throat to his tie, showing off the marble texture of his skin. A moving painting, which was what he had always been.

  
Hanzo's eyes narrowed when Jesse didn't obey. "Did you not hear me?" his voice, although trying to sound steady held a hint of unease.

  
Jesse shook his head, his expression softening. "Just rememberin' how gorgeous you are," he murmured, soft as a petal's kiss.

  
Surprise flashed across Hanzo's face for an instant before it disappeared behind a smug facade. "Oh? Gorgeous? How flattering." The archer reached forward to finger at the clasp of Jesse's belt. "I would love to show you how beautiful I am underneath all these layers..."

  
Jesse gulped and nodded eagerly. He stepped away from Hanzo and began pawing off his clothes as quickly as he could manage. They had both done the slow worshipping dance of stripping the other of their garbs plenty of times, so, Jesse was not opposed to skipping that particular song and dance this night. His blood was starting to pump quicker in his veins, as if trying to keep up with the intensifying rhythm from beneath him. Soon his belt joined Hanzo's on the floor as Hanzo stripped as well, socks and shoes making a small pile, while the pants, shirts, and vests at least attempted to be stacked neat. It wasn't long until Jesse stood before Hanzo, bare as the day he was born save for the chain holding a ring around his neck. Hanzo reached out, pale in the moonlight, to trace a finger over the white gold loop, before soothing up the chain holding it. Jesse watched Hanzo's face. What was he thinking? Did he want it back? Did he hate it and everything it stood for? Whatever Jesse had been hoping for with his breath held he did not find in the almost confused look on his lover's face.

  
The cowboy hadn't been expecting the fingers to turn into a fist that yanked him closer by the chain. He gave a grunt as he jerked down to be face to face with the talon sniper, but quickly recovered and pressed their lips together firmly. It started almost chaste--just an assertion, but it slowly evolved into quick peppered presses of lips, morphing into open mouth all-consuming kisses. By the time their tongues were slipping together and their breaths were huffed and hungry, Hanzo was lifting his legs up to wrap around Jesse's sturdy frame. Hands ran up Jesse's spine to tangle in the long brown hair at the base of his neck. Jesse gave a grunt when Hanzo tugged at his hair; it stirred up memories of what seemed like forever ago, when Hanzo would pull his hair to command him to behave while he was bouncing unceremoniously on Jesse's cock. Speaking of, Jesse reached down to palm at himself. Hanzo smirked against his mouth and rubbed his erection against Jesse's stomach, smearing pre against his skin.  
Jesse snorted. "Y' gettin' excited too darlin'?"

  
"You are taking too long," his 'darling' purred back. "Too much longer and I might so soft--"

  
"Y' know I would never let such a travesty happen."

  
He head ducked down, mouth finding Hanzo's neck to suckle at his pulse point. His cock gave a hard twitch at the mew that fell from those beautiful peach lips, egging him to suck harder and lave his tongue over the bite. By the time he drew away, Hanzo was breathing heavy between them and his cock was straining up against Jesse's belly, oozing and begging for attention. Hanzo's eyes mirror Jesse's in their darkness, a show of his desire for his fiancé to get on with it. And just the sight of small red-purple bruises blossoming along the pale column of Hanzo's neck was enough to draw a growl from the gunslinger and a surge of possessiveness go through him. His hands reached down to squeeze roughly at the soft flesh of Hanzo's ass and haul him up and close, allowing him to wrap his legs even more firmly around Jesse's middle.

  
"Fuck--"

  
The curse from Hanzo urged Jesse to stagger over to the bed and with one hand push back the lace and practically toss Hanzo onto the sheets. What they were doing was dirty--sneaking away from a party to fuck in one of their host's bedrooms, and it was even more forbidden since they should be trying to kill one another. But as Jesse yanked the lace shut behind him and crawled full body to hover over Hanzo, none of those thoughts mattered to him. All that mattered was the man reaching up to hold onto his shoulders and draw Jesse down like a dying man to water. And it fired up Jesse like none other.

  
"Baby--darlin'--" Jesse's mouth went to the other side of Hanzo neck to place more love bites there. He couldn't help but drag his nose up to the man's jaw, inhaling the scent he had missed for so long. The pillow on Hanzo's side of the bed back at Gibraltar had long since lost the smell, but here it was as if Hanzo never left; he smelled just like Jesse remembered--something sultry and sexy, but also clean like laundry and classic like a tea bag. It was cliché--Jesse knew this--but there was something that was just so utterly Hanzo about the way he smelled that it made Jesse's chest fill with the feeling of home.

  
And a burning desire to claim him once again.

  
"McCree--" His name came out as a snarl on the other's tongue but lacking true venom.

  
Jesse ignored his impatience. He left a last bruise to bloom on Hanzo's throat before kissing, biting, and sucking his way downward. He trailed down Hanzo's sternum, between those soft pecs, across the valleys of Hanzo's abs. By the time he reached the hair below the navel, Hanzo's breath was hitching and his red tipped cock was bobbing upwards trying to get close to the hot breath coming from between Jesse's lips.

  
"My, my," Jesse cooed teasingly as his fingers dipped down between the crease of Hanzo's ass. The archer tensed as the pad of Jesse's finger swiped over his hole. "Aw, don't tense up Hanny Bee."

  
He kissed over the V of Hanzo's pelvis on the one side, making Hanzo jerk in a ticklish reaction that Jesse always found endearing. His lips ghosted down to the base of Hanzo's cock before stopping--teasing. Just as Hanzo opened his mouth to protest him stopping, Jesse's hands gripped Hanzo's muscular thighs and pushed them upwards. There was a squeak of surprise as Hanzo felt his body bend over itself, then his legs spread and Jesse eased them apart. His next noise--thankfully partially obscured by the wail of cellos in the room below--was when Jesse's tongue brushed his now exposed hole. The pink muscle pressed against the rim, probing gently at first before pressing deeper and deeper. Hanzo squirmed in Jesse's hold, both trying to press into that intrusion and also away.

  
"Filthy--" the archer gasped out.

  
Jesse relished the sight of his fiancé’s fingers curling into the sheets, the way his lips fell open, the way his back tried to arch both closer yet further away in the next breath. The cowboy went about his work dutifully--maybe he would have hummed a tune if he weren't so occupied. Hanzo meanwhile tried to cling onto the bed as if to ground himself from floating away--although he did allow himself to let his eyes flutter shut. Pride swelled in Jesse's chest. Yes. _He_ was doing this. _He_ was bringing the ex-yakuza heir enough pleasure to make his breath stutter and give pause.

  
"S-Stop you fool," Hanzo growled. Jesse had been tonguing him for several minutes--even though from the shaking in his frame Hanzo would have guessed it was hours-- "unless you--"  
His words were cut off as Jesse pushed further in with his tongue. And Hanzo snapped like a rubber band. He gave a garbled shout, surprising even himself, and spilled against his stomach. Jesse continued on as if nothing changed, probing into that familiar heat until his jaw ached and the body under him was giving over stimulated twitches and--was that a whine? Hanzo found himself suddenly empty as his lover drew back onto his haunches, letting the archer's legs down slowly. A mess of white soiled Hanzo's stomach, no doubt already on its way to becoming a sticky mess.

  
The dragon's eyes narrowed. "Satisfied?"

  
Instead of being met with sheepishness or even a chuckle, Hanzo swore he heard a low growl come from the man before him. The back of Jesse's hand swiped across his spit soaked mouth while eyes stared down intensely at Hanzo. Jesse watched Hanzo's eyes widen. His voice was full of dark promises when he growled, "Not even close."

  
Without consideration for the cum drying between them, Jesse slid full body against Hanzo, knees sliding up to keep Hanzo's legs apart, one hand grabbing both of Hanzo's boney wrist together and hauling them above his head towards the pillows. His metal arm supported him so he wasn't fully crushing his love, but he still put enough pressure on Hanzo that he knew he was being held in place...That he was at Jesse's mercy. No more running.

  
It was Jesse's turn to smirk as his eyes took in the pink blush that had bloomed across Hanzo's cheeks. "Y' put on such a big show fer someone who so willingly submits," he chuckled almost darkly.

  
Hanzo didn't have a chance to form a witty retort. No sooner had the words left Jesse's mouth had he released his grip on Hanzo's wrists in order to use his flesh hand to press finger after finger into Hanzo's warm body. Hanzo's back arched off the sheets in delight, and McCree probed and scissored him until Hanzo was twisting and squirming his hips like he always did when he was ready for Jesse. How many times had he seen his lover do just this? Eyes almost glazed, body reacting to the presses to the bundles of nerves inside of him, mouth parted just enough for Jesse to see the tip of his pink tongue--a work of art, as Jesse always described him. He was something to be hoarded--a true dragon's treasure. The fingers pulled out only to guide Jesse's cock up to the place they had left. The archer seemed to freeze as he felt the weight of what was to come before he full body jerked when the head breached him.

  
"Big--!" he gasped through clenched teeth.

  
"Don't tell me y' forgot?"

  
Jesse chuckled as he slowly pushed in. He knew Hanzo wasn't a dainty thing by any means--he could take his fair share of rough treatment in bed, and honestly, Jesse was too impatient to take his time. Soon he was all the way in, cock fully sheathed into his lover, the sensation pulling a sigh from him. It was just like he remembered. He adjusted so that his forearms rested to the sides of Hanzo's head, allowing him to crane over the man as he began rolling his hips. The roll started slow, testing the waters, to gauge Hanzo's response, and only when he started hearing the puffs of breath from each time he went fully in and the moans when he pulled out did he start snapping his hips against Hanzo in earnest. Each pull of his cock pulled him nearly all the way out before shoving all the way back in as far as his girthy cock would let him. He kept his eyes on his lover, looking for any indication that his prideful dragon was at his limits. But, if the noises he was making were any indication, Hanzo was having a time of it. Yes, a true dragon he seemed in those moments--teeth bared, sucking in air through flared nostrils only to let it out in large puffs in the air, nails digging into the sheets as if talons keeping him steady, and his pride, oh his pride, where he tried to muffle his noises of pleasure. It all drove Jesse mad. Memories of their couplings bubbled to the surface as he snapped his hips forward again and again. Sex with Hanzo Shimada was never dull, never without its charms, or without love. And Jesse was pouring every ounce of himself into each movement, each endearment that fell from his lips like the rain that was starting to fall heavily down from the gray clouds in the night sky. Earlier that night they had acted like strangers, but now...

  
"I love you." Jesse was close, with sweat dripping down his temples with the efforts of his movements--effort to express his love through the most carnal of means. His cruel words to his fiancé on that fateful day seemed so long ago, like a faded scar on his skin, replaced by presses of the lips on every open spot of flesh Hanzo had and with words that left no room for question. "I love you..." They had been at it for what seemed like an eternity, with neither showing any signs that they had enough. Hanzo has sweat beading on his forehead and chest, and Jesse was no better off his bangs stuck to his forehead from his own workout. The heat in the room was almost suffocating, with steam crawling up the bottom portions of the window panes and with the silk sheets under them slicking and making Jesse's feet slide as he tried to find a holding point.

  
Forever was not enough time to make up for what he did, nor to show Hanzo physically how much he loved him and desired him. It was as he was looking down at the man he was set to marry that McCree's breath caught in his chest. This man had went through hell since the day he was born. A different kind of hell than McCree surely, as a silver spoon never hurt anyone, but a yakuza heir under so much pressure he killed his own brother? Jesse wouldn't wish that upon anyone--not even a Talon agent.  
The pace of their fucking slowed. Hanzo kept trying to speed Jesse up, using rough probes of his tongue down the cowboy's throat, of nails scraping up his bare back, of teeth pinching at the nape of Jesse's neck. And yet Jesse slowed the thrusts of his hips, right down to a lazy roll. He fully stuff himself into Hanzo before slowly pulling out nearly all the way before beginning again. If he cared for the near pain Hanzo was inflicting upon him to try to lash him forward quicker (like one would a horse), Jesse was the stubborn mule that paid no mind.

  
"Faster," Hanzo hissed. He looked out of his element trying to demand for something and getting no results.

  
Instead of obeying, Jesse ducked down, pressing their chests and stomachs together, making each of his thrusts short but buried deep inside of him. The gunslinger felt, rather than heard, Hanzo gasp at the angle and bring his legs up a little to get Jesse in just right--just so he was grazing that special spot inside. There was a quiver to his stomach, a signal that he was riled up and ready to let go, that Jesse picked up on. Forearms came up to rest on either side of Hanzo’s head, and with a little adjustment, Jesse was staring into his eyes, only a breath away from him.

  
"I love you Hanzo."

  
"Don't--" Hanzo's eyes darted away. With how flushed he was, he almost looked like a shy maiden...perhaps save for the hickies coloring his skin a motley of reds, and the obscene squelching sound coming from inside of him.

  
Jesse nuzzled him softly on the cheek, making Hanzo breathe a little quicker. "Yer comin' home with me," he stated--more of a promise to himself than anything. There was a softness to his gaze that spoke of the depths of which he needed Hanzo to come home. "If you leave again...it'll break my heart."

  
"McCr--"

  
"God dammit, call me my name!" This was the only time he paused since he began, and, if he was being honest with himself, it was because he could feel the tears swelling up ready--

  
Their eyes met. Jesse could see the hesitation in them as Hanzo opened his mouth. He looked almost scared to speak. But then... "J-Jesse..."

  
A pregnant pause lingered between the two men, a testament at how at odds they were--an Overwatch agent wanting nothing but forgiveness, and a Talon operative who had turned his back on everything he knew to show them the knife that stuck from it. The pace started again with enthusiasm, ripping moans and cries from the archer pinned under him. Jesse's hands shifted once again, this time to thread their hands together. Hanzo hesitated before slipping his fingers between Jesse's and allowing him to squeeze.

  
That was all it took. The returned gesture from Hanzo sent a ripple through Jesse. He was here--he was under him--he was under him--he was---here. A growled out shout tore from Jesse's throat as he slammed into Hanzo, pistoning his hips to milk himself into the man. Hanzo's body tensed the moment he felt the warmth flood him and very suddenly wrapped his legs firmly around Jesse's middle. He snapped like a rubber band, arching up into Jesse's body, coming a second time between them with hardly muted cries. Once they were both spent, Jesse lowered himself shakily to press tired kisses to parted lips.

  
"I love you...I love you..."

  
Hanzo returned the kisses while slowly easing Jesse off to the side. "You are heavy," he murmured.

  
Jesse chuckled. "Sorry...I'm a little out a' practice."

  
The archer made a thoughtful noise. Those golden dragon-like eyes roamed Jesse's face, enough for Jesse to wonder if he was actually looking for something, or trying to remember. But then he said, "Then shut your eyes. Take a rest. Nobody will bother us up here."

  
But worry seized in Jesse's throat. "But--"

  
Fingers gently caressed through the beard lining the cowboy's jaw. Hanzo was curled up at Jesse's side, though leaving a little space between them. "I will be here when you wake. I will not leave."

  
Those words alone started lulling Jesse to close his eyes. "Promise?" he mumbled into the silky pillow beneath his head. However, he missed Hanzo's answer. Sleep seized him all too soon, dragging him down into slumber.

* * *

  
Jesse wasn't asleep too long--just enough to rest his eyes, to catch his breath, to restart his senses.

  
And that was why he didn't dare open his eyes.

  
He had come to wake to the motion of the bed dipping on Hanzo's side. Was he leaving? The cowboy kept his eyes shut and face passive but ears straining as he heard the gentle footsteps walk through the room. There was the rustle of fabric and the clink of what could only be belt buckles--

  
He's just getting dressed. Jesse tried to tell himself. But his gut told him otherwise. Normally people are instructed to think rationally, and the rational side of Jesse said it was natural to get dressed after having sex--especially in a somewhere risky locale. But Jesse hadn't had a normal life. He couldn't count the number of times his hut feelings had led him away from some seriously dangerous situations. Like Switzerland, he thought bitterly.

  
Then there was a beep. It was small, muted, but in the quiet of their room with only the din of music down below and the faint chatter of party goers, the small noise stood out in how inorganic it sounded. Hanzo made a small huff. Clothes were picked up off the floor followed by a pause.

  
"Go for Shimada," Hanzo said quietly as he cleaned himself off.

  
The voice Jesse heard speaking through the communicator sent his heckles rising and a thousand memories of his days in Blackwatch come flying up into his mind.

  
_"Have you killed him yet?"_

* * *

  
Hanzo snorted. He pressed his ear piece firmly back into place before setting about fully clothing himself. Underwear and pants had already been tugged on, but he had to be quiet...lest he wake the Overwatch agent who was still asleep in bed.  
From the moment he had realized who Jesse was over dinner, his mind had been working, the metaphorical wheels turning a mile a minute, trying to figure out the best course of action. The man had stolen his dragons, lied to him, and used him. What could he do? And one look across the table at his sniper companion had given him the inspiration he needed. Why, the answer had been right in front of him!

  
_Kill him of course._

  
When McCree had been serving him dinner, when they had been caressing each other at the bar, when they had been fucking in the bed, all this time Hanzo could feel the familiar tingle of electricity buzzing just over his skin, like static. That man had his dragons--had stolen them, Moira had said. Could the American feel them?

  
_He would imprison me_ like _he did them. Are they under his skin?_

  
So Hanzo came to the conclusion that he would take them back by force. This of course wasn't part of the mission to get Strauss to back Talon efforts in Eichenwalde, but the archer simply couldn't imagine any of his colleagues raising a fuss over some spilt blood. Especially not Jesse McCree's. The man was like the grim reaper himself if the tales in Talon were to be believed. Hanzo had heard tales of a power the man possessed--an eerie ability to lock on to six people at once and shoot his trusty revolver with pinpoint accuracy. It was said his one eye glowed a devilish red before the gun fired. Hanzo acknowledged that the man was a seasoned fighter--he had read the reports of Talon run-ins with him over the years, plus his work in Blackwatch which was vouched by their own Reaper--and knew it would be a fool's errand to try and fight him for his dragons back.

  
"Not yet," he told Reaper quietly. His shirt was shrugged on over his head, careful as to not knock the com loose. The two blue contacts slipped in after that, reestablishing video feed for Sombra back on the transport.

  
_"What's stopping you?"_ the voice on the other end was the very essence of smoky and dark. Like a demon in human form.

  
"Why? I know you never had the guts to do it yourself." When he was met with silence he gave a dark chuckle. "I know you have history with him. You were his commander no? And he your second in command. That kind of relationship always leaves and imprint." His question received only a grunt in his ear as he did up the buttons on his vest. "Any word from Widow?"

  
_"She's talking with your host now. Her com is on silent."_

  
The archer finished dressing quietly. The rain had begun falling harder outside, leaving puddles to collect in the gardens and for droplets to cling to the windows, obscuring the view. Truly the scene out the window panes was something out of a novel, probably something about a heartbroken phantom, haunting an old castle, body gone but soul full of so much regret. Golden eyes narrowed. Perhaps that analogy was too close to the truth. With the rain came an odd silence in the room, marred only by a somber slow piano down below and the white noise the rain was making. Even the rich who had turned out for the event seemed almost dead in their silence. The ticking of a clock down the hall filled Hanzo's head alongside the loud beat of his heart.  
When the last button was threaded the tie was wrapped around his neck and knotted with practiced ease, then came the silk socks and shined shoes. Even freshly fucked the man looked like a million dollars and tailored. From his pocket he produced a switchblade--not his weapon of choice, not by a long shot--but something that he had easily been able to carry with him for just an occasion such as this. There was a dull throbbing pain that had begun in his head, stemming from the side and branching out--and although a minor annoyance had him slightly worried. Since waking with no memories, he had come to associate these headaches with confusing blurs of images, noises, and sounds, all of which felt like they should have meaning to him but dance right beyond his grasp.

  
His foot fall was quiet as a cat as he approached the sleeping form curtained behind the bed canopy. He certainly did look good laying there naked and only obscured by the sheets around his hips. A beautiful painting he would look when they find him in the morning--a man of brawn, a sun kissed Hercules, laying bloody amongst silk. The archer moved the curtains of the bed aside. The dim lights from behind him cast his shadow long and menacing across Jesse's sleeping form, like a devil in the night. A bolt of lightning and rumble of thunder broke them moment.

  
_"Will you regret it?"_

  
Reaper's voice would have startled Hanzo had it not been for how hard he was concentrating on lowering his heart rate. "Regret? Regret for what?" he snarled quietly. "For claiming the life of the man who has done nothing but hurt me? Rob me?"

  
There was hesitation in the silence which followed, and for a moment Hanzo thought Reaper disconnected the call. _"It's not always easy living with the knowledge you have killed another. You know this already._ "

  
The image of his brother swam before his eyes. Faded chipped memories--fragments--of a night time killing. Blood on the dojo floor and up the wall. Cries echoing off the tall ceilings. Pleads for mercy. "I am stronger now than I was then."

  
_"I'm...imparting my wisdom on you. Kid."_

  
Hanzo's upper lip curled up into a snarl. "Do not patronize me."

  
On the other side of the com there was dead silence followed by an almost shuttered sigh. Hanzo was about to question the man when he heard Reaper say in a voice scarcely above a whisper, _"She's lying to you."_

  
"What--"

  
But his question faded on his tongue when the figure before him shifted ever so slightly. The Talon agent froze, eyes darting to Jesse's face and then his chest. His breathing was still shallow. Asleep. Wanting no further distractions he reached up and muted his com, cutting off whatever Reaper was about to reply with. And with the com cut off there was true silence. Like the moments following a murder, silence seeped into the room--even the band below having fallen silent.

  
_A moment for the devil to grieve_.

  
"It's a pity we are on different sides," he spoke softly to Jesse, eyes waltzing up his sleeping form. "I hear you are a remarkable fighter. I would have liked to see you in action. But...I like to think I am merciful." The later was a downright lie. He flicked open his blade and admired the sharp edge in the dim glow of light. "Dying asleep in a luxury few in our line of work can afford."

  
With the curtain fully pushed back, Hanzo Shimada steeled himself with a deep breath and knife in hand. One swift jab to the back of the head would have the American's blood and brains all over the pillow. And his dragons could return to him. And maybe the damn visions of him would stop--

  
Eyes closed. Another breath.

  
In.

  
Out.

  
Again.

  
In.

  
Out.

  
His grip tightened on the blade. "Good night, Jesse McCree."

  
What ensued was chaos. Hanzo thrust down the blade with the intent of lodging it in the upper portion of the man's neck. However, what he wasn't expecting was a metal hand to fly up quick as a whip and grip the blade mid swing. Brown eyes met gold and Hanzo couldn't fight down the surprised gasp. He was awake.

  
"Let go damn you--"

  
Jesse pulled at the blade, sending Hanzo off blade and stumbling away from the bed. Hanzo paid no mind to his scuffed palms, instead he bolted to his feet and tackled Jesse on the bed, hands clawing desperately to get his only weapon back.

  
"Hanzo what are y' doin--"

  
"Give them back to me!" Hanzo yelled. He lashed out with a fist, connecting with Jesse's bottom jaw and making the man see stars. But still he gripped the blade tightly--too tight for Hanzo to yank it away from him. "Give me my dragons--"

  
Confusion was clear on Jesse's face. And for a moment, something in Hanzo registered it as genuine. "I don't have--"

  
Jesse's protest was cut off by a loud boom out in the courtyard followed by screams of panic. Both men paused. Down by the front entrance, just barely visible around the corner of the building billowed a plume of black and gray smoke. Car alarms were going off in a cacophony around the building, joining the panicked chorus of party goers screaming for help. A glow of orange, red, and yellow erupted out in front of the castle around the metal frame of what was once a car--fire. Glass and metal shrapnel littered the ground. The chaos was only amplified by the rain which had seemingly picked up intensity in the course of only minutes.

  
An explosion.

  
It appeared the talk with Herr Bismarck had went south. Or Dover had started early.

  
_"Get to extraction. You and Blue have been compromised,"_ came Sombra's voice suddenly over his com.

  
Hanzo hesitated. He wasn't one to disobey orders. He never had---had he? He felt the headache flare up again, images of McCree with his revolver surfacing alongside other faces that he could not put names to. And although every ounce of him still wanted to fight for the blade and finish his job...

  
He ran.

  
_Always running. Coward._

  
His fingers flinched quickly away from the knife and his feet carried him to the door and out. Behind him he heard frantic cursing as the cowboy tumbled naked out of bed to try and clothe himself and catch him. Whatever he yelled after him was lost in a loud clap of thunder.

  
The extraction point was on the far side of Eichenwalde, nestled amongst some trees near an old tavern, cloaked invisible. This he knew. And his plan was to slip out of the castle unnoticed, steal through the city, and escape to safety. He would have to brave the weather of course, not that he had a choice. But he made a fatal miscalculation, one he realized the moment he came off the bottom step of the staircase. While the explosion had given him the opening to leave, it had also caused mass hysteria downstairs. People were fleeing like a mob, trying to find a safe exit since the main doors were closest to where the car bomb had been set off. Like a raging sea they moved, one mass of frantic energy. One Hanzo had to cross. He hesitated, looking for an opening to nearly literally dive in, when he heard familiar yelling behind him.

  
"Stop--!"

  
It was sink or swim.

  
And Hanzo took the plunge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter alone was 6k+ words...and honestly, I was going to combine this chapter and the next. And boy I'm glad I didn't. I got inspiration from the scene with Hanzo talking with Reaper at end from Kill Bill Vol. 1. Honestly that's one of my favorite movies--I love the use of music and camera angles and it's just GOOD. Knowing me I'll probably throw more Kill Bill stuff into this fic before I'm done. Haha. 
> 
> And in case any of you actually read my babblings here, I also have a tumblr you can talk to me at. I s2g I don't bite much. Send me asks ; __ ; Lemme know your thoughts on what I'm doing to these boys. https://sovereign-tea.tumblr.com/


	16. Burden of the Husband

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look yall and update. Sorry it took so long. Life has been kicking me in the teeth, but recently I had an epiphany that had me feeling a lot better. So maybe I can finally get my head in the game. I'll be wrapping this whole thing up "Soon" and moving on to the next thing. If anyone has any suggestions on what to do next, send me an ask on my tumblr! I always have 1000 ideas, but usually they're only half baked lol. What are you all into anymore? I'm old and have no idea. It was nice to get some asks from some of you! Really made my day. *finger guns* 
> 
> Love all your beautiful faces.

There was always festivities around Christmas time--lots of decorations and food for the one time of year even the agents abroad returned to Hanamura. Even if it wasn't observed as a religious holiday in Japan, the Shimada seemed to love using it as an excuse to meet up under the guise of togetherness in order to discuss business. But there had been three Christmases that had been different than the others.

One had been the Christmas of 2038. Yoshi had been young, making the day but a blurred memory. He could recall snow--it had been abnormally cold that December, or so he had been told in the years since, as if it had been some sort of omen--and panicked voices. People rushed this way and that, all talking loudly, while others kept out of the way but within earshot. The tension in the air had been palpable, and it could be seen in the way people, even when sitting, looked tense as springs ready to burst out of their seats. If he closed his eyes even now, he could vaguely remember the feeling of reaching out with a small hand to grab onto his mother's dress. She had always looked beautiful to him with her black hair done up in a high bun tied with ribbon, and always with a glossy peach lipstick. And she always wore the most beautiful dresses. In retrospect they were just ordinary sundresses (or warmer ones for winter), but their patterns had always been beautiful and they accented her small frame well. Yoshi's favorite had been one of the thick ones she wore for the holidays; it was made of a thick material and cut off just below the knee, decorated with a pattern that almost looked like lace. A bride. She had looked to the young boy like a beautiful bride ready to walk down the aisle. Perhaps to a better man than his father. He could remember reaching out on that day and tugging gently, asking her what the commotion was about. He wouldn't understand the sadness in her eyes until years later, but she had looked at him with a sad smile _. "Your best friend is coming to meet you."_  Yoshi had heard it whispered years later that there had been lightning mixed in with snow the day Hanzo Shimada had been born.

The second had been only three years later. The meeting hall had been packed, everyone from the Oyabun himself down to the lowly maid was in attendance. Yoshi, at the age of six stood in front of all of these people, dressed in a small black suit as if it were his wedding day. And in a warped sort of way, it was. The shiny shoes looked too big for his feet, and the cufflinks were heavy on his sleeves, and--where was his mom? He couldn't help but scan the nearby faces nervously for her familiar smile. Directly in front of him was a small boy with a found face and golden eyes, who was reaching out to him, nervous about the eyes and his own lack of mom at his side. Without hesitation Yoshi had reached out and took his hand. He had been spending a lot of time with the kid that was born in that lightning snow storm--in fact, the adults had insisted on it. He learned how to take care of him, how to play nice, he even practiced his reading by propping the kid in his lap. The kid was sweet, but a baby at best. He was clingy and whiny and was spoiled. The adult doted on him by giving him toys and sweets while Yoshi had to constantly be doing school work, or cleaning up after him and the boy. He wasn't ever having much fun. " _You belong to him now. From this day forth, you are tied to him as a faithful servant--"_

And the third--

A clap of lightning drew the man out of the past in his mind to the present. Outside the window of the transport rain pounded against the glass, making the night even darker than it had any right to be. The Japanese man sat in a seat of black leather, with his white suit contrasting starkly against it, eyes watching the dark red wine in the cup balanced in his hand swish around with each delicate flick of his wrist. The monitors in front of him glowed, providing the only bit of light in the room, which made his only good eye strain a bit due to the brightness. Across them the panic of the party-goers unfolded into chaos as they fled through the halls of the castle. But he cared nothing about that. The only one he cared about...

There was a glimpse of Hanzo as he rushed through the kitchen, sliding across slippery tiles in his dress shoes, hand scrambling to grab something on the kitchen counter as he rushed by. Behind him were four burly guards, each with a gun poised in their hands, yelling at him in various languages to stop running. Not but a couple moments behind the guards was the cowboy who had finally managed to get dressed and join the chase.

Hanzo Shimada always drew out the best and worst in Yoshikaze. If he was being truthful, the other man had been his first friend--the first person beside his mother that he got to know to any extent. As boys they had been attached at the hip, only vaguely aware that their friendship was a little different. Perhaps it had never bothered Hanzo, but sometimes Yoshi would feel a sort of strain--from being tied to the whim of the younger boy, having to shadow his every step, unable to break away and have alone time. Yoshi could recall Hanzo's favorite things, things he loathed, and as they progressed to teens, Yoshi was able to also pinpoint nervous ticks that even the Masters hadn't been able to rid the boy of. It wasn't as if it were a one sided friendship however; Hanzo could spout off plenty of things about his friend. But could one really be friends with another person whose existence was valued above your own? On one hand, as children they had always played and went everywhere together without much fear. But has Yoshi got older, Sojiro accumulated more power, and with this increase in power came attempts on his life and those closest to him. And Hanzo, being his direct descendant and the next in line for the Oyabun position was a prime target for assassination and kidnappings.

The answer to this question of whether they could stay friends or if something would break had come to Yoshi slowly over a series of interactions, attempts on Sojiro's life, and over a kiss that had been less spur of the moment than the yakuza heir thought. Despite being an underling, born of a subservient side branch of the Shimada, Yoshi was cunning, in a way that, if not for what he would hear called his "inferior birth", he would have made for a good yakuza leader. He possessed the intelligence, the skills to use weaponry to a lethal but artful degree, and a certain charisma that charmed over many--at least in his youth, because somewhere along the way it had been replaced with something cold. The man had a knack for reading situations and people, with body language and tone being something he could pick up on very easily.

With a sip of wine he glanced up at the monitors, tracking Hanzo as he weaved in and out of the crowd within the castle before bursting out a side door and into the rain. The archer showed no fear nor exhaustion in his features as he darted into the darkness, away from those trying to battle the flames of the ruined cars left by Dover's bombs. The heir was headed into the abandon city.

                " _And right into my arms_ ," Yoshi hummed.

The glass clicked on Yoshi's rings as he set it empty on the desk. Wine stained lips drew into a smirk as he watched the guards lose sight of Hanzo and chase down the wrong side of the castle--not thinking he would go into the dangerous and dilapidated city. The cowboy however had darted after him with confidence in the stride of his boots.

Perhaps years ago that might have ruffled some feathers. Nobody loved Hanzo more than Yoshi after all, and there should be no competition. But Yoshi had grown a lot in the years Hanzo had been in hiding and he had been in Korea laying out his plans. Goal oriented, once he got his claws in something it was hard for him to relinquish control. With a tap on one of the screens before him, he froze an image of Hanzo casting a look behind him at his American pursuer. The once-bodyguard traced a finger down the image of Hanzo's jaw, his eye scanning the familiar face. Beautiful. Ink black hair, golden eyes, and high cheekbones...he truly had all of the Shimada's best features--right down to the blue dragons underneath his sleeve.

                " _Right into my arms, just like a good boy._ " With his free hand he pulled out his holopad and shot a text off to Dover to be ready for phase three. Another round of thunder and lightning cut through the rain outside the window. Yoshi refused to let a little rain dampen his plans.

* * *

 

                “Han? Darlin’?”

Electricity to the abandoned town had been turned off long ago, leaving the old rotting buildings in nearly complete darkness; only the brief flashes from the lightning cracking through the clouds allowed for Jesse to see where he was going. In his pursuit he had lost sight of Hanzo, but he was fairly certain the archer had ducked into a large home across from a tavern. From what Jesse saw as he approached the building looked like a rather upscale residence, and for the age of the building—hadn’t he heard they were built in the early 1900s?—it looked completely intact. It was pressed up again the house next to it in a fancy sort of row home. Hanzo must have shouldered his way through the front door, as the post looked dented and the door was wobbling slightly in the breeze—open just enough for Jesse to squeeze in. Pictures of family members hung on the wall, shoes lay abandoned near the front door, dishes on the table in front of a TV...It was eerie, as if Jesse was breaking and entering someone's current home. In the short moments where McCree merely stood in the doorway to scan his environment, it dawned on his just how sudden the evacuations must have been. One minute a family might have been watching TV or having lunch, and the next they were being told to run because Bastions were rolling across the hills towards their town. Whole families, uprooted from their daily lives in the blink of an eye.

The cowboy took a shaky breath and pushed his hand through his soaked hair. His shirt clung to him, pants were all sorts of uncomfortable as they sagged from the weight of the water, and his dress shoes were splattered with mud. True to the gentleman that he was, he at least attempted to wipe his shoes off on the mat right inside the front doorway. There was no light in the home, the power having been shut off long ago. The wall paper was falling off the panels in thin broken curls, and the interior smelled like something decided to rot right in the foyer. From his pocket he flicked open his cigar lighter so he could see and not trip over anything. The small flame gave him enough light to see rain drops leading farther into the house and up the steps.

Shadows darted long up the walls, still lined with pictures of the family who had to quickly leave their home. The floor boards groaned as he moved, impossibly loud, as the cowboy cautiously went to the second level. He had no idea what Hanzo would do if cornered; hopefully he wouldn't attack, but he seemed so skittish now. The rain drops splattered on the hardwood floor went up the stairs to a third floor and to the right, down the hall and into a bedroom whose door was ajar. Slowly Jesse made his way towards that room, his hand slowly going to his gun that was tucked away in the concealed holster. A similar sensation to the fear a viewer feels when watching a creepy horror film began rolling up his spine in a slow cold wave; any of the doorways he passed on his way down the hall as he followed the water marks could hold a threat, a monster, or worse, ready to jump out and drag him to hell. But what is hell if not living without his love? That thought alone sent the sensation of dread back down from crawling up his throat. For Hanzo he would go the distance, he would follow Dante down into the earth if need be.

Finally with the door before him he paused. He took a breath, trying to steel his nerves before pushing the door fully open. As he did, he saw Hanzo, hands just tossing open the glass double doors that led out to a small balcony. Behind him lightning lit the sky, casting a brief light over him, revealing a soaked body and wide wild eyes.

                “Han—“

The archer darted out in the rain, but Jesse was quick on his heels. With his darling so close, there was no way he was giving up the chase now. The rain had picked up in intensity, making the concrete and wood slippery at best, yet somehow Hanzo had already darted across it and was making to jump to the next when a loud boom of thunder stopped him.

Jesse’s call mixed in with the noise of the rain and thunder. “Han! Stop! Please!”

And to his relief, Hanzo stopped—one foot on the railing, about to leap to the next balcony to the next house attached in the row. Slowly he placed his foot back down and glanced back over his shoulder. “Persistent are you? Did you find our tumble that—“

                “I’m not lettin’ y’ go.” Jesse’s voice was filled with determination. He stood his ground, ready to rush forward and tackle the man if need be. With a swipe of his hand across his forehead he pushed back the bangs sticking to his face. “You’ve been gone fer too long darlin’.” Then, added a bit softer, “I miss you.”

Jesse watched as Hanzo gritted his teeth angrily. Only then did he turn to fully face the gunslinger. Never before had Jesse seen such an expression of ire on his face. Surely he had seen the spectrum of the archer’s annoyed faces throughout their time together, but this was different. There was no kind familiarity in that gaze. “Gone? You _kidnapped_ me and you took my dragons from me.” His fists were clenched, teeth pressed together firmly. “You warped my mind—“

                “No!” Jesse’s heart ached. “God Han, do y’ really think I would do that to y’?”

Hanzo did not falter, not even as another boom went off in the distance. “I do. Overwatch agents are nothing if not terrorists, obsessed with amassing weapons to future their needs.” His tone held firm, much to Jesse’s disbelief. Hanzo continued. “You lured me in, using kind, honeyed words to _tear_ my dragons from me!”

Jesse took a very hesitant step forward. His blood felt cold in his veins. “No. No I did nothing but love you Hanzo.”

                “Do not lie to me—“

                “You still have your dragons,” Jesse insisted. “Can’t y’ feel them? They’re still under yer skin…”

In a fury, Hanzo yanked his sleeve up, revealing his tattooed arm. “I have not felt their presence in so long, if not for the ink marking my skin, I would have assumed they were just a dream.”

                “I could feel ‘em whenever I was close to y’ Han…” Jesse shook his head. “Talon is lying t’ ya Darlin’. Right to yer face.” He took another step forward, and was glad when the archer stood his ground. He looked downright miserable and angry drenched with rain; it would have almost been comical if not for the circumstances. “Who’s the one fillin’ yer head with these tales? Is it that witch Moira? Or that rat bastard Yoshi? I heard he had crawled outta whatever hole he slithered in after I fucked up his face—“Jesse wasn’t stupid. He saw the shift in Hanzo’s posture. He had went from standing his ground, ready to engage to shifting into something ready to pounce, the chef’s knife grasped firmly in his hand was evidence of that. A sigh escaped Jesse’s lips. Another rumble of thunder rolled close by. “I know yer confused. I can tell.” Jesse brought his metal hand up to tap his own temple. “It doesn’t all make sense, does it? Y’kno it’s not right what they’re sayin’. There’s holes—“

                “Silence,” Hanzo hissed. He drew the knife up, positioning it in front of him, ready to lunge. But something in his eyes made Jesse perk up. Unsure. Despite the scowl, the knife, and the razor sharp tone, there was hesitance in Hanzo’s beautiful eyes.

Jesse pushed back, holding onto his own hope. “Why? Did I hit to close t’ home? Let me guess, y’ woke up, had no idea what was going on, but Yoshi—a familiar face—told y’ exactly what happened? Or perhaps Moira, an’ Yoshi only piggybacked—“

                “I _will_ cut your throat open you stupid American.” It was clear Hanzo was getting frustrated, and Jesse could only assume that meant that he was right; there was nothing more insufferable to Hanzo when he was wrong and Jesse was right.

                “Then do it.”

Hanzo’s eyes widened a fraction and his grip tightened on the wooden handle. But Jesse held his arms open. “If that’s y’ think will silence all the demons y’ have in yer noggin’, then so be it.” The shaky breathe Jesse was holding escaped with something akin to a defeated laugh. “I’m…I’m tired Han. I’ll chase y’ forever, as long as I’m alive, just tryin’ t’ get through that Shimada thick skull of yers that I’m _sorry_.” He watched Hanzo’s nose wrinkle and eyes narrow. He was listening. “I jumped t’ gun and said awful things that I never woulda said otherwise. But lord knows, I’m tired.” His hand swept up, gesturing at the archer. “I love you so much Hanzo. And I need you know that. It’s killing me seeing y’ confused and hurt like this. Yer smarter than the lies their fillin’ yer head with…Y’ have to know they’re lies right? Overwatch ain’t the bad guys like they’re sayin’. I didn’t steal yer dragons…they’re still in you…they’re just concerned about you—unsure why yer actin’ like this.” His smile was frail but tender. “Yer not actin’ like the Hanzo we all know and love.”

And for the first time in months, Jesse saw it. The way Hanzo straightened up—still ready to surge forward, but drawing back a little, unsure in the best course of action. Something flicked across his eyes, the same look he had when he was overthinking a situation on base. He raised his arm up a little, eyes darting down to trace along the inked curve of his tattoo, the scales that trailed up his arm from his wrist. The gears were turning, Jesse could tell.

                “See? You know I’m right for once,” Jesse offered with a chuckle before growing serious again. “Genji had burdened me with this task. To bring you back that is. It’s my duty as your husband to keep you safe…”

Hanzo looked surprised then. “Husband?”

The cowboy nodded. His fingers fished around under his shirt and pulled out a chain—the very one that he had found in his bed after a vivid dream. Two matching rings clinked together with the chain threaded through them, a sign of their love and promise to be together. Hanzo stared for a moment and Jesse had a wave of anxiety wash over him thinking of what was about to happen. The seconds slid by and during the time a whole ocean of emotions passed through his eyes. Then—

Hanzo took a step forward. The knife was still in his hand, so Jesse was on guard, but he let the talon agent come forward. A head shorter than Jesse, he came to stop right before him, eyes boring into Jesse’s with an intensity that made Jesse shiver.

Jesse’s voice was quiet and broken when he spoke again, this time with Hanzo within arm’s reach. “It’s killin’ me seein’ you so confused Hanzo. Please…let me help y’ pick up the pieces…It won’t be easy but…Let me help.”

There was a moment where their eyes met and Jesse felt as though he couldn’t breathe. The air felt the same as the first time Jesse truly looked at Hanzo and thought “I love him”. There was something heavy between them, a turning point, and an electric charge. And if the surprise that came into Hanzo’s face meant anything, it meant he felt it too. Slowly the knife dropped, clattering noisily on the ground as that hand went to comb through and shaved hair where the chip used to be. It was the turning point that Jesse had been waiting for.

                “I…--Jesse? “

Jesse had been hanging onto Hanzo’s very breath, hoping for the forgiveness he had been seeking. Hearing his name _truly_ uttered from those lips…Those months of waiting, of praying, of chasing, it had come to this. They may be soaking wet on a balcony in Germany, but there were worse places to be with worse people.

Carefully and slowly Jesse brought his hands up to gently caress the sharp line of Hanzo’s jaw. “Darlin’?”

His brows knitted together. “I…I feel like I remember but—“ The face he made was painful, and it had Jesse stepping into his space. “There are holes. So many holes…What have I done Jesse?”

Jesse closed the distance entirely. He wrapped his strong arms around Hanzo’s broad shoulders, dragging him in for an embrace that had Hanzo pressed against his body. His nose nuzzled into the ink black hair, not caring if it was soaking wet. “God---Han—“

There was so much he wanted to say. Jesse could feel the anger leaving Hanzo, replaced with a tiredness he had never seen in the man. His fingers dipped down to gently take Hanzo’s hands in his and give them an affirming squeeze. He was…real. He was there.

But before they could reunite, before Jesse could even think of what to do next, a loud boom went off nearby, followed by a deafening roar. The gunslinger’s thoughts immediately went to thunder, but this was more. The whole building shook violently as large cracking noises filed the air.

                “Han?” Jesse yelled out, but Hanzo looked just as confused.

The ground rocked violently, tossing both men to their hands and knees. Another loud bang rang out nearby, followed soon by smoke. And another, and another.

                “Explosions?!” Jesse gasped out.

Hanzo cursed and tried to scramble up, only to be knocked down again. The three story townhouse rocked violently as another bundle of explosions within the row of homes went off.

                “Dover--!” Of course. Hanzo had known the man had placed bombs throughout Eichenwalde, as threat for the occasion that their mission went belly up. But who had pulled the trigger? Understanding dawned to the archer. He was seen as expendable. Jesse was right. Talon had only wanted him for his dragons, and without them--Smoke was beginning to fill the air. From within the homes flames began licking up the walls and filling the windows. Jesse barely had time to think of how quickly the row was going up in flames when he heard a threatening crack and felt the tremble under his body. It only took one more loud crackle to Hanzo realize what was happening. The support beams of the house were breaking. “Move—“

Just as their eyes met once more, the floor under them gave way.

Jesse’s eyes went wide as he saw the concrete split and the wooden railing give way. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. The balcony gave way and Hanzo was almost floating for a second. There was surprise written all over his face as his arms sprawled out, looking for something to grip onto. But there was nothing. Jesse tried to call out to him, but noise of the building collapsing filled the air with a loud cacophony. Rain, concrete, wood, and metal rained down as the two men fell from the third floor down towards the hard ground below. Jesse remembered trying to reach out for Hanzo, and seeing his fiancé reach out to him too, but the ground came too fast, and suddenly there was darkness.  

* * *

 

Jesse groaned when he regained consciousness. The first rays of the morning sun were poking through the spaces in the lumber planks and concrete chunks that were piled on top of the cowboy. He occupied a space between several heavy pieces of debris, and luckily for him nothing had pierced his body. However, when he tried to lift himself he found his prosthetic shattered by his side.

                “Dammit…”

Smoke and dust filled the air, making it harder for him to draw a breath. But then he thought—

                “H-Han?” he croaked out. His head was spinning, vision blurring—which probably was a direct result of the bloody wound on the side of his head that was dribbling blood down his scalp and temple. His voice was raspy and couldn’t carry past his concrete prison. Through a space in the debris he peered through, trying to get a glimpse of way lay beyond. His entire field of view was more or less the same—the ruins of the town homes littered up and down the street, some sections were scorched and still smoldering from the fires.  

As he scanned what he could, huffing and puffing as he tried to formula an escape, he saw a couple feet away another debris pile. But more importantly…

From the debris, a pale arm stuck out, caked with blood, fingers drooping downwards, carrying droplets of blood down them. Jesse immediately began struggling. “Han! Han—“ before he was interrupted with a coughing fit, the ash and smoke becoming too much. “Oh my—darlin’—“ Panic was settling in. His fiancé lay a couple feet away, obscured by the wreckage of the house, and hurt. There was blood leaking out from under the pile, glimmering scarlet red in the morning light.

And then—

Through the noise there were footsteps, loud and clear even through the screeching static that was beginning to fill Jesse’s head, approaching, one foot after another. Jesse opened his mouth to shout—Hanzo needed help, please! But he felt something strange wash over him. He watched as his small, dimly lit space began to glow a faint blue. From a space between concrete a long blue shape slithered in and darted up Jesse’s body quick as could be. The thing—whatever it was—wrapped around Jesse’s mouth like a snake, but unlike a snake, this thing was otherworldly and felt warm. There was a brief moment of fear that flooded Jesse’s veins, but there was something familiar…and comforting about the—

Dragon?

Glancing back out through the space Jesse saw a person had come to a stop by Hanzo. All Jesse could see was long legs, dressed in white pants and shiny black dress shoes, the debris cutting off his view of the person’s waist and up.

_Get away—_

But the words never reached his mouth. The blood loss and blow to his head was quickly luring him back into the darkness of unconsciousness. The last thing he saw was more people arriving and rushing toward the person in white and begin to shift rocks out of the way.

They were taking Hanzo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	17. Mein Herz Brennt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy spooky month everyone! I hope everyone is enjoying the Halloween event. Can we talk about that McCree skin. Woooooo boy. 
> 
> I'm back with...this. I uh, hope you all like it. 
> 
> And thanks to those of you who send me asks on tumblr. They made my day. If I reply to them I typically post them to my blog in case anyone else was wondering too. So be on the look out for them if you send me something :)
> 
> Speaking of asks, I've been asked how long the series is going to be. I don't have a concrete number really anymore. All I can say is "soon-ish" it will be drawing to a close. I have some other things cooking in the back of my mind for future fics (possibly), including a Bloodborne AU. Hit me up on tumblr with any ideas yall would like me to chip at. I might even listen!
> 
> This chapter was named after a Rammstein song I played a lot while I wrote this chapter. I particularly like the more instrument, non metal version of it because it sounds pretty creepy and sad--especially when you look at the lyrics. If I'm not mistaken (and google translate didn't fail me), the title is "My heart burns", which I felt was accurate for both Jesse and Hanzo in this chapter.

Genji always hated hospitals. The way everything reeked of sterilized plastic set him on edge, and for a place that saw humans in their worst condition, the overabundance of white always seemed an odd choice. Yakuza work and his own clumsiness growing up had sent him to the Shimada infirmary more times than he cared to remember, but he could always remember having to be practically dragged in by someone—typically Hanzo or one of his bodyguards who claimed they refused to catch trouble from Sojiro if Genji happened to keel over. If the odor of the place and the color was unbearable, the food was bland enough to kill on its own, and one could almost hope the uncomfortable beds might swallow them whole and end their suffering of having to attempt sleep on their hard surfaces. Hanzo, who was naturally the more careful of the two, rarely had need for a hospital, whereas the nurses used to giggle when the sparrow was dragged in. ‘What did you do this time?’ was always on the tips of their tongues, and Genji, being the lady’s man that he was, would have to craft an outrageous—yet believable—tale of how he ended up hurt. Usually it wasn’t too far from the truth just on the sole fact he didn’t trust Hanzo not to out him in front of the nurses.

Then of course there was his long stay at the Overwatch medical facilities...

But it was strange to be the one visiting. The Overwatch infirmary was quiet, almost eerily so when compared to when the organization was fully staffed. Now the multilevel, multi-room medical center was empty, with only about ten rooms kept in any sort of working order. Winston had crunched the numbers during recall and had opened only what he knew Angela could safely maintain--and hopefully, the max that would be used if a mission went awry. The cyborg sat in a plastic folding seat, directly across from an open door, foot tapping quietly on the linoleum tile, but constantly _waiting_. Genji Shimada was not known for being overly patient—even Zenyatta hadn’t been able to tame all of the man’s eagerness (in fact the monk called it a good quality at times). From inside the room before him was the faint rhythmic beep of a machine and a steady light snore of someone who was fast asleep. His visor was pushed up, allowing Genji’s caramel eyes to glance up and through the space in the door and to the slumbering form in the bed. How did it come to this? His metal fingers of his right hand grazed over the smooth ceramic surface of the mug he was holding; perhaps years ago he would have been able to draw some comfort from the piping hot liquid inside, but with the metal incasing the few remaining nerves he had, the warmth was lost on him. But the tea wasn’t for him.

Just then the door opened fully with a gentle creak. Coming out of the room was a very tired Doctor Ziegler, clipboard in hand and a lab coat buttoned tightly on her small frame. The stress of their situation was clear in the dark circles under her steel blue eyes and in the frown lines framing her mouth.

                “Angela.”

Her eyes snapped up from what they were skimming on the clipboard. “Genji,” she said, almost with a tut. “Still here keeping vigil? I told you—“

The Shimada slowly stood and went to the doctor. He held out the cup gently. “That ‘he’ll be fine, not to worry’.” The words were a mockery of her earlier words, but it was with a smile to his scarred lips as the doctor’s narrowed gaze. “And I know that Angie. But I still want to be there for him.” A beat of silence before he added a quiet, "And for the doctor presiding over him."

Angela took a sip of her tea before sighing with content. She had figured Genji would be sitting there. The ninja and cowboy had been inseparable even in their Blackwatch days. They spent every day together, mission after mission—it wasn’t unusual for one to be occupying that same chair while the other was laid up in of the hospital beds. In some ways they were closer brothers than Genji and Hanzo. Together the doctor and the ninja sat down, Genji leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Angela with her back resting upright in the chair and the tea cradled in her hands. The warmth soothed an ache in her weary hands that she hadn't even realized was there. She had been on her feet for several hours trying to get Jesse fixed up. “He’s lucky you were so close,” she commented softly. The man’s prosthetic arm had been unsalvageable, and he had so many deep scratches that were bleeding so profusely. But Angela was a world class doctor; if Jesse had to be laid up in bed, he was at least lucky to have Mercy herself watching out for him, say nothing for Lucio and Zenyatta who had also stopped in to aide when Jesse had been first admitted many hours before.

Genji’s eyes darted down to his left wrist. He had been the one to find Jesse underneath the rubble. But he had found more than just Jesse. “Do you think he’ll wake soon?”

                “Perhaps,” she shrugged, sipping her tea. “He’ll be due for more pain medication shortly. I wouldn’t doubt his body will wake itself seeking more."

They sat in silence for a while--comfortable, and marred only from the machinery within Jesse's room. A close call. If Genji hadn't been within the abandoned city when the bombs went off, Jesse would have likely bled out. Some of his teammates had been astounded at Genji's luck, having been so close and being able to so quickly locate the gunslinger. But it hadn't been luck. In fact, Genji had been planning on searching an entirely different part of town.

Angela placed her cup down on a small end table beside her. "Will you watch him a moment while I step out?" When Genji nodded back mutely, lost in thought, Angela added, "It will only be for a second I--"

                "Go Angie, I can handle him." The smile he offered was strained, but no less comforting.

The moment the tired doctor disappeared into the bathroom at the end of the hall, Genji was on his feet and wandering into Jesse's room at a nagging insistence he felt from inside him. The room itself was dimly lit with only one light left on so Jesse wasn't blinded when he woke, and the only other light being the moonlight spilling against the bottom of the bed as it came in through the blinds covering the window. Jesse rested on his back in a stark white bed, lips parted softly and deeply breathing, face devoid of pain for the time being. Adhesive bandages had been stuck over several scratches on his face, and as Genji's gaze dipped down towards the sheets that were pulled up his torso, he saw the white bandages wrapped there too. His prosthetic was gone, nothing but the cap for the nerve connection remaining, and even that looked dented; the pieces of his left arm were in a cardboard box on the floor nearby--perhaps at Torborn's request. Everything about the scene before him gave Genji a feeling of dread that crawled up this throat like an uncoiling snake. Jesse wasn't supposed to be quiet--he was a booming presence with a smile as bright of sunshine. It had been years since Genji had seen him without the tacky prosthetic with the skull design, and without a cowboy hat on and so battered Genji could have argued that this man was not McCree. But he knew. He had shoved the rubble aside and pulled him out, choking on smoke, huffing in his mask at the dead weight of the man who couldn't hold himself up enough to walk. But even then, the man had gasped out for Genji's brother so desperately even the memory made his metallic chest ache.

 Genji turned his attention away from the man in bed. He moved with quiet steps to the window to pull up the blinds to gaze out at the moonlit oceanscape. Even has his eyes swept across the shore which wasn't too far away from the building, he wasn't truly seeing any of it. His mind was going back to the scene in Eichenwalde. He had been about to go investigate a building close to the castle, having seen Jesse disappear into it sometime before, but there had been a nagging feeling in his gut. Something had whispered to him, _no no this way_. His feet had followed this voice, stumbling quickly through the burning Eichenwalde streets. And upon turning a corner and seeing a mountain of rubble that had once been a house, he saw a light. From within the pile he had seen a blue glow. _Yes yes he's here!_ And when he rushed over and began digging--

                "Genji?"

The voice was weak, dry, and almost foreign to the cyborg. "You're awake." Genji didn't know what to say. When he turned around he was met with tired eyes. "Of course you wake up the minute Angela steps out. You're a trouble maker."

Jesse went to say something smart, but his breath hitched and the words died on his scratched up lips. "Gen...is that...?"

He had known Jesse would find it. Of course. Not that he had hidden it, but he had hoped that perhaps it would take longer. The fingers of Genji's right hand began to fiddle with his left wrist, undoing the knot in the fabric tied there. It was soft silk, gold and yellow with a wave-like arch pattern running the long length of it. Red and brown blood stained it in sections while holes dotted the ribbon in places. Genji untied it fully and came over to Jesse who looked so desperate for the familiar item.

                "It was near where I found you," Genji murmured softly, watching Jesse go to reach with his left arm before realizing. His right hand came up shakily and took the ribbon from Genji as if it might turn to ash the second his fingers grazed it. Jesse's fingers trailed over the fabric along with his eyes. How long had it been since he had felt the silk in his hands? Slowly he brought it up to his nose, taking in the familiar scent. Soap. Flowers. But also smoke and the coppery twang of blood. His lips grazed his fiancé’s hair ribbon with a reverence that Genji had never seen from Jesse. "I...I thought you might want it." It felt almost forbidden to see Jesse like this, drowning in his love for a man who kept slipping through his fingers. And now, maybe forever.

                "Was he there?" Jesse asked, voice tired, dry, and torn. "Was he there with me?"

Genji shook his head. "No. He was...gone. The ribbon was all that was there."

The grip on Hanzo's ribbon tightened. "He...He wasn’t' even wearing this at dinner," Jesse managed to get out. "He looked so handsome, but somehow without this..." He didn't quite look the same. Silly, Jesse knew, because people changed their style constantly. But there was something iconic about seeing the ribbon tied in his lover's hair that reminded of how safe he felt when he saw it fluttering on a silhouette atop a building during a mission. Like part of a guardian angel.

Jesse opened his mouth to say more, to ask the question that dying to be asked, but a blue light caught his attention from the side of the room. On the desk amongst the tools Angela had used to stich him up sat his hat--dirty, but in fine condition. From underneath the brim came an electric blue glow that had Jesse struggling to sit up. Genji rushed over and pressed him back down--he shouldn't be moving!--while keeping his own eyes on the hat. Slowly the hat rustled, making both men's eyebrows shoot up towards their hairlines in surprise. The brim slowly tipped up before flopping back down. Once, twice, three times this happened before suddenly--

A snout.

A muzzle appeared from underneath the brim, slowly weaseling its way out to show blue scales, and yellow hair running down a serpentine spine and from its upper lip in the form of whiskers. The creature was fairly small, like an elongated ferret, with sharp looking claws and hard yellow horns at the crown of its head. Both ninja and gunslinger stared as the dragon flipped the hat over to crawl out fully before taking a rather large leap from the desk to the edge of the bed. With little caution the dragon rushed up the length of Jesse's covered legs before tackling into his chin.

Despite the ethereal like glow coming from the creature, the dragon was solid as a cat or dog, and the rough bonk to Jesse's chin had him startled. "G-Genji?" The dragon had begun rubbing its muzzle against Jesse's bearded chin while making an odd half growl, half chirping noise. Was it...content?

Genji reached out, picking up the creature in awe. It gave an angry squeak at Genji, but soon enough was scampering up his metal arms to nuzzle against his neck and face as well. Familiarity flooded Genji along with memories he thought lost coming to the surface from his youth. "This is...one of the spirit dragons," Genji said as his fingers waltzed down the golden hair of its spine. The dragon arched and squirmed like a cat at the touch. "It’s one of Hanzo's. I have not seen his take a physical form since we were children."

The dragon soon enough was clambering back down to the bed. His long body trotted back up Jesse's chest, almost careful of his state of injury, and pressed itself close to his face. The scales were cool to the touch but most certainly solid. Comforting. Jesse reached up to trace down its back his hand and immediately the dragon dissolved into purring. Genji watched with interest. His dragon often took form when he was in need of comforting, or sometimes after a long fight on the field, but Hanzo's--like their master--were always hesitant, dare he say shy, to reveal themselves more than just their spirt forms darting across the fields of battle to claim victims in their master's name. But here it was, nuzzling against Jesse like a house pet, calm and tame like Jesse was just an extension of Hanzo. But perhaps that was it, Genji reasoned, the dragons were part of Hanzo were they not? It would make sense then for the dragon to be affectionate towards Jesse in particular, given the fact they were lovers.

                "Why is only one here?" Jesse asked quietly.

As if understanding, the dragon lifted its head to stare at Jesse, then, it gave a small huff--a sigh, Genji realized--before setting its chin on Jesse's shoulder. Its tail, which had been flicking happily all the while Jesse petted it, fell suddenly still. A bad sign.

Genji shook his head. "I...am unsure." What were the motives behind a spirit dragon? Genji could not even begin to try and fathom. They were creatures so ancient they came before man, and so eternal they would exist well beyond. How could a mere mortal gauge why it suddenly decided to leave its host? Was the Shimada bond--formed during an elaborate and deeply guarded ritual during their youth--have been broken? Did this one forsake its master? Or worse...

Jesse's one handed hold on the beast tightened. "You don't think Han is...dead, do you?"

When Genji didn't reply, Jesse broke. He broke in a way that Genji had never seen before--not even after Hanzo first left. The tears were immediate, his voice coming out in racked sobs mixed with hitches from the pain of his wounds. The dragon's head picked up gently off Jesse's chest and nosed at Jesse's chin, a 'hey, are you ok?' that went unanswered. The machines monitoring Jesse's heart beat began beeping erratically as the cowboy dissolved into a true sobbing fit, their noise carrying down the otherwise silent hallway. Moments later Angela was rushing into the room, panting from having run the length of the hallway at the machinery's cries. To say she looked startled at the blue creature was an understatement, but with her patient in distress she had no time to question where the lizard had come from.

                "Jesse! I need you to calm down, you're going to open up all your wounds. Please, count with me, focus--one...two...three..."

Genji stepped back so he was against the wall, watching the scene unfold, his mind full of questions as he eyed the dragon which had been shooed off Jesse's chest by the doctor.  He watched as it dropped down to the floor, patted over to the window before hopping up on the sill. Was it just enjoying the moonlight? Was it looking for its master? Or was that black twinkle in its eye sadness because Hanzo was no more. It was a familiar purr against his neck that made him realize that he had tears streaming down his own face as well. His own dragon, green and bulky was nudging his face; it must have felt fine to reveal itself since Hanzo's had. He stroked down the horns of his dragon with a sigh.

_Oh Anija. Where are you?_

* * *

 

_The last vibrations of the explosion rattled through Hanzo's chest. A fire crept up his spine from his belly as his world came tumbling down around him. But that voice calling out to him...calling his name...It was that same voice as in his dreams, with those same warm, caring eyes that he could get lost in._

_Jesse?_

_Hanzo wanted to go to him. To find him. Home. When the cowboy held him it felt like home. But where was he?_

He was awoken by a faint mechanical beep and the sound of leather scraping. Slowly his eyes fluttered, first clamping shut against even the minimal light of the room he was in, before gradually easing open. Machines of all sizes and shapes surrounded him. Clear tubes crisscrossed one another before hooking into various IVs that were pushed into his arms and wrists. A clear machine nearby dripped with saline solution while another dripped with blood. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. A metronome of sound each drop made, a loud echo in the silence. Hanzo watched with hazy eyes as one red droplet after another fell from the top of the glass container to the pool of red liquid collected at the bottom. It was...unnerving. Other tubes pulsated with a dark purple light, filled to the brim with some sort of substance the consistency of Jello and purple as grape jelly--albeit a bit more vibrant. Scattered amongst lab equipment and blood soaked scalpels were a couple short glass tube. In these tubes was a liquid so black that it seemed darker than the night. Maybe it was just a trick of Hanzo's eyes, but he swore the ink-like liquid was...moving, sloshing back and forth like an angry sea within the glass.

It only took a second of examining his surroundings around for his body to become overwhelmed. His body came to the realization that his senses had woken, and pain suddenly filled him. Pain sparked below his hips and down his legs, searing hot pain that made him almost cry out--

But he didn't.

He clamped his mouth shut as the sweat beaded on his forehead. It hurt. It hurt so badly. Whatever was causing this pain made him want to tear the very flesh from his bones so the heat would leave his body. But there was something in the room, a looming feeling of dread and evil that made goosebumps erupt down his arms. A sinister presence lingered. There was a couple dim lights on, but most of the room was shrouded in darkness. And from that darkness came dread.

 _Don't make a sound. It will hear you._ Hanzo became aware of how heavy his breathing was, and soon a flight or fight instinct started worming it way through him along with a cold sweat.

Something at his very core was screaming out to flee--something recognized the danger of his situation, even if in his very confused mine he wasn't sure of where he was or how he got there truly. But when he went to move, body trying to come up away from the bed, he found himself stuck. His arms jerked, tied down to the bed not only with IVs, but thick straps of leather that bound him to the bed. A white sheet stretched from his hips down, obscuring where the leg straps must be; his legs felt infinitely heavy--or perhaps he had been doped up and his coordination to life them was just that bad.

                "You're awake." The feminine purr made Hanzo startle in his bed and jerk against his restraints. Out of the darkness came a pale woman with familiar orange hair and intense eyes of blue and red.

The name came unbidden to his lips. His voice was soft, like a child caught doing something they were not meant to be doing. Or perhaps more than anything, a poorly veiled fear.  "Moira."

                "You took quite the fall," she continued in a smooth tone. If it was meant to calm Hanzo's nerves, it had the exact opposite effect; every hair on his neck was ghosting upwards and something electrical in him was popping as if trying to get away. Danger. Danger. She continued as if merely commenting on the weather rather than why Hanzo was currently strapped down to a medical bed. "Luckily we were able to save most of you."

The words slowly washed over Hanzo. He watched as the older woman came over and ran a long nail over the high points of his face as if looking for some sort of reaction in his eyes. When she didn't see what she expected she pulled away slowly and headed over to a desk. She continued talking to him as she worked. From his angle in bed he was just able to make out her long claw-like nails picking up one of the vials filled with the dark fluid. Moira swirled it around gently with small flicks of her wrists, and it almost looked like the ink bubbled and resisted the swishing motion. A syringe was produced from a drawer and stabbed through the membrane keeping the vial shut. When the plunger was pushed down and then pulled up the liquid was slow to draw up into the needle. Hanzo immediately struggled against the restraints. "I say most because, as you may be aware, you are missing your legs from the knees down.

The news was said so nonchalantly that Hanzo almost missed what she meant. In a moment of complete intellectual prowess, Hanzo looked her in the eye and said, "What?"

Moira sighed. "They were crushed when debris fell on you. A small miracle the rock that pierced them did not fall further up on you." The doctor clicked her tongue, as if to simulate bones snapping. She came back over when she heard the machine indicate a higher heartbeat, and pulled the sheet down for him to see.

His chin tilted forward. His eyes went wide. A wail. Mouth opened wide in a scream, his head slammed back against the pillow. He missed her smirk. Gone. They were both gone. The skin at his knees was bandaged in bloody wraps and up further on his thighs he could see the pink and brown stains from long dried blood. Gone. Gone. Gone. The sheet was replaced to cover him but his heavy breathing and panic continued, only amplifying when a hand grabbed his jaw. It wasn't enough that he had severe holes in his memory, but now that he had the feeling in his gut that he needed to leave--to get back to Jesse--he couldn't. He couldn't run. He was trapped.

                "You lost a lot of blood. A lot. You're lucky to be alive." The cruel smirk that had been twisting her mouth slowly dropped as she stared into his golden eyes, fingers still digging into his jaw. "You should be thanking me."

                "I--"

She cut him off by squeezing his jaw painfully. As he stared up into her eyes he saw the absolute joy that was there. She was _happy_ he was in pain, happy he was terrified--a sadist of the highest degree. Was she always like this? If Hanzo's memory served, this doctor had worked with Overwatch at some point. Was she like this then too?

Quick as a flash, before he even knew what was going on, Moira reached down and grabbed one of his arms. While he one hand squeezed, aiding the restraint already keeping him down, her hand that was holding the syringe plunged the needle point into his skin. With expert precision it found a vein and with a simple press down on the plunger with her thumb the black sludge was spilling down the glass and metal and into Hanzo's body. Hanzo couldn't help the cry he let out, desperate and startled as he realized what was going on. If he thought his legs hurt, this was a whole new pain. His vein felt like they were on fire, ready to incinerate him from the inside out. The archer could almost feel the blackness flooding his system, cold, but leaving fire in its wake.

                "What did you do to me?!" he screamed as he thrashed. Pain shot through his system in steady burst. But soon a sensation settled over him like a pin and needle blanket against his skin. His vision was blurry, obscured with tears unshed and something darker.

Moira was back to grinned. She had let go of his arm when he had begun to struggle and took a step back to observe with her knuckles beneath her chin and eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Consider it a gift," she said simply.

                "What did you DO?" Hanzo's breathe was coming out thick puffs. As the moments ticked by, the room seemed to drop several degrees for the archer who could see his breath floating above him. A cold was slowly replacing the heat that had once flooded him.

                "I'm making you better."

 _Better_?

When Hanzo finally was able to open his eyes again a chill ran down his spine to his thighs. The doctor was standing, staring at him in such a predatory way that Hanzo half expected her to pounce. Everything about her posture held power and dominance, and a frightening amount of intellect and morbid curiosity gleamed in her eyes. "I've done this once before. I like to think I've perfected the formula in the past decade."

Hanzo saw it. Out of the corner of his eyes he caught a glimpse of the darkness that was twisting down his right arm, starting from his neck, and then cascading down his shoulder like a winding snake. In a way it was solid, in that it was dark and he could feel the cold smoke it left its wake, but he could also see the light from a nearby table coming through it slightly. It moved as if it had a mind of its own, coiling down until it grazed Hanzo's fingers. The tear finally spilled over as Hanzo realized with a sudden bout of clarity what she had put inside of him. It was the scent of rotting that really, truly, drove the point home.

It was at that moment that the laboratory doors slid open. "Moira I--" The smoky voice belonged to non-other than Gabriel Reyes---Reaper. His owl-like mask was clipped to his belt, revealing his scarred face of a man that looked almost ordinary. Brown eyes, brown skin riddled and crisscrossed with scars, and hair black as pitch shaved at the sides but laying in curls at the top of his head. In his clawed hands he held onto a folder with a Shimada logo stamped on the front, barely visible from how worn out and faded the folder was. His dark eyes glimpsed Moira before landing on Hanzo. The ex-militant was across the room in a matter of second. Hanzo could hear him screaming at Moira, angry, sad, he couldn't quite tell because his world was spinning; the ceiling swirled around and around and it felt like he could hear a thousand whispers in his ear.

His remaining dragon dug deeper into him, a flickering blue light in the darkness that was flooding him. Was this his fate? Hanzo was suddenly relieved that at least he had thought to leave a dragon to protect Jesse. Maybe it would have to protect him from a real monster now.

Reapers angry screams and jostling of Hanzo's restraints faded away as his vision turned black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Breadcrumbs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was on PTO this week, spent two days drinking, and I guess was productive in the sense I babbled on for 17 pages about how Sombra made everything possible. This is a Sombra-centric chapter where it's her research that led to the events of this series. 
> 
> Thanks for all the views, kudos, and comments! They mean a lot to me. Hit me up at https://sovereign-tea.tumblr.com/ if you have any questions or anything :^) I'm on it pretty much constantly.

Sombra loved gathering information, especially on people that would rather keep things hidden. Using her computer skills she had been developing ever since she had obtained a tossed away and rather primitive computer back in her youth, she had been teaching herself how to bend the Web and all the program numbers and strings of code to her will. She was self-made, and for the most part self-taught--not that she didn't learn a trick or two from others in her way to becoming Talon's top information hacker. She would like to think her family would have been proud at the social climbs she had made especially with how young she still was. Through hacking and hording information to sell to the highest bidder, she sometimes shivered to think of what she could accomplish by the time she was forty, fifty, and hell, even older. Computers were only getting more advanced, allowing her more opportunities to obtain information, and with how social media had taken off, people were posting their laundry on the web for all to see. And if one was smart and could link together the stories of multiple people...Some days she felt more like a journalist than a hacker as she tried to figure out the life story of her mark, and where best to attack from. Talon was paying her top dollar to ensure that the information she dug up belonged to their organization and wouldn't fall into the hands of competitors or the press. It gave Sombra a sort of a god complex knowing that she was held in such high regards. That's what half of her believed. The other half knew the paychecks for what they were--a buy of silence and a flaunt of their massive fortune.

  
She had been with Talon for several years when she was approached to gather all information she could regarding to a rather mysterious 'Shimada Hanzo'. Her employer had some details about him, but most of it was rather outdated by the time they set about looking for him under the prodding of a new recruit of theirs--a blonde man that Sombra had only met in passing at a mingle. From the way he carried himself tall like he was superior to everyone, down to his almost condescending way of talking, Sombra knew he had a history--a dark one that was probably just as murky, if not more, than her coworkers. Sombra prided herself on being able to read people's tells very well, and she knew just by the twenty-some minute conversation she had with the Japanese man that he was a liar and crooked. But why?

  
When given the "Shimada Hanzo Assignment", Sombra had dressed down in her most comfortable pjs, which consisted of a flimsy tank top and fuzzy shorts (both a shade of purple) and had curled up in her hybrid desk-bed, as she liked to do most of her hacking work from her bed, with the lights of her room dimmed low. She had started with one screen before her, glowing blue with a blank inquiry box at its center, a flashing cursor sitting within the box, a familiar beginning to all of her information hunts. Sombra had cracked her fingers and began typing.

  
To get to her true prey--to Hanzo--she had to know the world that surrounded him; his clan, the Shimada, were not unknown to her, not even in Mexico. While she had never had interaction with them during her time in Los Muertos, they were rumored to be true gangsters that the Japanese called Yakuza. The name was often uttered with awe or reverence, the same sort of tone that one used when talking about movie stars. A "real" gang. Aristocrat gangsters. They were seen by those in Los Muertos as being like-minded kin, but on an entirely different level of playing field. And they weren't wrong in their assumptions. Talon had approached the Shimada clan years ago (Sombra would have only been a young teen at the time), looking at fostering a relationship between themselves and the clan that had a strong grip on Japan's government and economy, as well as influence that stretched beyond Japan and into other countries such as Taiwan, Korea, and China. But Talon's offer was declined. Admittedly, that fact interested Sombra almost more than Hanzo. So she dug, bypassing into documents and archives that she did not have any sort of clearance for, opening up tab after tab on her now multiple screens with different files containing what Talon had been planning. Talon had a vast archive of information about previous project endeavors, and surely being scorned by a powerful Yakuza empire would be dog-eared in some document somewhere. What she found hardly surprised her.

  
Surrounded by dozens of monitor-less screens, Sombra swiped through page after page of information, sorted by the oldest first so she could track any evolution of ideas of Talon regarding the yakuza, and likewise and differences in clan activities. The clan had been generations in the making. The date of their beginning was back hundreds of years, seemingly founded by a wealthy ancestor who seemed to know good business. Their beginnings were frankly nothing special; accumulation of wealth gave them security, then slowly they began finding ways around laws preventing further growth, and over hundreds of years they began amassing an empire built on firearms, drugs, and violence. The Shimada supplied the guns to other lesser clans, and by the looks of her research, even the government at some points in time. With so much fire power under their control, their headquarters--a sprawling beautiful estate in the city of Hanamura--was an impregnable fortress, armed to the hilt beyond huge towering walls that provided a barrier between them and the commoners. The police, even if they weren't corrupt, would have a hard time getting out of the estate alive if they were foolish enough to wander in looking to make arrests. That is, if they even could find evidence of wrong doing. Despite it seeming to Sombra as if the Shimada's criminal status was known by the public, there were hardly any accessible records (accessible in the way a non-hacker could obtain them anyway) that pinned any crime on a Shimada. Searching through years of police records and news articles offered very few stories of successful Shimada arrests. Of course there were suspicions that a Shimada had stolen something, or perhaps was behind a mugging or murder, but the suspect always seemed to vanish like smoke, or end up in the obituaries some days later. To Sombra who had worked with Los Muertos, she knew this for that it was. If someone got sloppy in the Shimada clan and endangered their way of life, they were offed, simple as that. And she could respect that dedication.

  
The drug trade was smaller in comparison to their hand in the arms trade. They seemed to only dabble, but they created everything themselves. From the raw materials to the pills, to the manufacturing process, to packaging and distribution, no outsider to the clan touched the product until it was bought on the streets and in the backs of clubs. Sombra managed to dig up an electronic ledger one of the accountants had foolishly kept on his private computer. Cross checking some of the names from decades ago revealed them to be all adult men and women--at least the Shimada had the sense not to sell to children, something Los Muertos could not boast. Everything about the drugs was completely uninteresting to Sombra, as it seemed to have little influence on the clan as a whole and it brought her no closer to Hanzo.

  
Assassination however were a different story. While she had seen plenty of hits go down in her own gang time, none were done with the professional lethality that this clan possessed. It appeared they worked on a system not too unlike those in the old, fictional story of The Godfather. While that story portrayed mafia life in the early to mid-1900s with Italian gangsters, it told of how men would pledge their alliance to The Don, to kiss his hand and offer friendship and loyalty for life in exchange for favors. It seemed the oyabun possessed similar authority. An electronic journal dated to just before Sombra was born wrote of such a morning where Sojiro Shimada, the then head of the clan, had met with a local wealthy woman (whom the man noted as being well known in various circles of men for being quite the character) and after many kisses to his hands and bows and flowery words asked for her husband to disappear. Sombra had read while wrapped in a warm blanket and a bag of chips in her lap how the woman offered several hundreds of dollars of silk from her husband's store as payment to Sojiro directly, as well as some of her jewelry that would be given to Sojiro's wife as a gift. The entire assassination called for a contract, and several other steps--but again, that did not interest Sombra, whom felt she was being lured off the path by grand tales hidden away in the archives of the Web. But Sojiro, that was a name that led somewhere. With a little digging and prodding through particularly guarded files, she discovered that not only was he the leader of the Shimada up until a little over a decade ago, but that he was also the father of Hanzo. The first document she managed to grab about Hanzo was one from Overwatch's very own files, linked to her by Sojiro's name.

  
The Archer.  
Real Name: Hanzo Shimada.  
DOB: December 25, 2038  
Affiliations: Shimada Clan, Japan  
Occupation: Mercenary, Assassin  
*SPECIAL* Current Bounty by Shimada Clan: 10, 000,000 credits. Dead or alive.

What followed was a small blurb about someone that the writer had clearly never met or had bothered to investigate any deeper than the surface of his crimes and basic info. Hanzo was good at archery as a kid, but obviously knew his way around a sword, and had a brother named Genji that he killed under the orders of his clan elders. Other than that, there was no other truly relevant data on the man that Overwatch possessed. Sombra knew they had recruited him--which was half the reason she was being told to dig up information on him. But was this truly all they had on the man? Perhaps his brother Genji--whom they noted in other files on the Shimada as having gotten info from and saved after his almost-murder--had provided oral information to them. But if they had truly let the archer in their ranks based on only this information...? Sombra shook her head and continued reading.

  
The archer was smart and talented, groomed from his youth to succeed his father as head of the clan. A grim kid if his pictures were anything to go off of, with only glimpses of smiles towards his parents and brother in candid shots. But as she looked through old photos of a kid with thick brows, unimpressed golden eyes, and long hair that fell in his face, a familiar face came up in nearly every photo: the new Japanese Talon recruit, Yoshi. He was much younger to be sure, but he still had the same sneaky look to his face that he had now as an adult. If there was a picture of Hanzo, Yoshi was typically within the camera shot of the boy. Now that was interesting. Her new coworker had mentioned being close to him, but...how close? She wasn't getting paid to get dirt on Yoshi, but she found she was pulling up more browser tabs with info she was able to find on him as well.

  
He was the only son of a couple belonging to an off branch of the Shimada. According to documents from within the clan, he was born with the sole purpose of serving as bodyguard to Sojiro's oldest child--a fate assigned to him before his conception. Yoshi's birth was unremarkable as was his upbringing. Other than shadowing the slightly younger Hanzo everywhere he went, Yoshi held no record of being anything remarkable, other than a quick mention in an old man's journal that he was fairly good at poker as a teen. She supposed then that Yoshi's comment of having known Hanzo was pretty spot on; to be someone's bodyguard you would end up knowing almost everything about them, especially having to be together for all waking hours. And Sombra had almost believed that to be the end of that part of her investigation...until she saw a link within a journal, and a rushed line.

  
Everything that had been written in Japanese had been automatically translated for her using software in her computer system, and after clicking the journal, slowly the kanji began transforming and morphing into lines of text she could understand. It read:  
"I saw something I shouldn't have today. I write this down here for fear of this knowledge, and what will become of me if I speak it. I do not know if Sojiro is aware, given that they are trying to arrange a marriage for Hanzo...but I witnessed his son and his guard engaging in amorous acts in the garden--"

  
Sombra nearly spit out the sugary energy drink she had been sipping. Amorous acts? Another entry by the same man attached a photo from days later, showing what appeared to be Yoshi pressing Hanzo into a wall near a bedroom, and from the small glimpse of Hanzo's face, it seemed to Sombra that he had been far from disliking the act. Bodyguard indeed, Sombra had found herself thinking. Yoshi hadn't just been the guard--he had been the lover too. That meant that he was a more reliable narrator than Sombra had originally anticipated.

  
If Yoshi's relationship with Hanzo had been that close, perhaps, Sombra thought, there may be some credibility to his mention that Hanzo Shimada himself was a weapon that Talon should be looking to obtain. The few pictures that the hacker was able to obtain over a week of shifting through the deep Web all contained some sort of dragon iconography in them whether it be tapestries, statues, patterns on fabric, or even the tattoos that seemed to mark every member of the clan. They had some sort of...lore about dragons wrapped into their narrative of their clan. It was more than just an icon to them. Throughout her week of being holed up in her room, quietly sifting through public records and highly encrypted data the Shimada had hidden away, she was able to uncover that the Shimada had "spirit dragons" that lived within the leader and his heirs. Honestly it had seemed so outlandish that Sombra was almost willing to write it off as something akin to how the ancient Romans had the Odysseus--a work of fiction used to elevate power and grander by giving the Shimada a back story, or a claim to fame. But for "just a story" it seemed like there was too much evidence supporting this fanciful claim of dragons. And it would explain the roars she sometimes heard over the coms of her fellow operatives while on the field. Perhaps Hanzo also possessed these dragons--just like Yoshi said.

  
And if Yoshi was right in that Hanzo had left the clan since the murder of his brother (which was all but swept under the rug by the Shimada, mentioned only briefly that the troublesome son had been taken care of by his elder brother) and had joined Overwatch only at the beckon of his brother--he would be easy to sway. A man who joins a cause only because a peer asks him to is not whole heartedly invested. Sombra herself had seen the archer a couple times on the battlefield. He was always isolated, up on the top of a building--as to be expected of an archer--and rather quiet for the most part. From recon drone pictures Talon had obtained, once the battle was over, Hanzo Shimada was not greeted by his peers and clapped on the back; the man was typically regarded with a sense of mistrust, or at the very least a rather clinical thank you by all but his now cyborg brother. If his comrades didn't trust him, sneaking him over to Talon would be a cakewalk.

  
Or so Sombra thought.

  
As she compiled her findings into a comprehensive report that she handed over to her bosses, she noticed something different. Jesse McCree seemed to be the wrench in their plans. Whereas everyone else regarded Hanzo coldly and were extremely hard to warm up to him, the gunslinger seemed to almost be drawn to him. Sombra could almost groan as she began finding evidence that they were beginning to warm past the point of being friends. And of course it was all after she had already submitted her research. All of the information she had gathered, all the evidence saying that this human weapon was hated and would be easy to turn on his comrades...and a man in a cowboy getup was making her look like a fool.

  
The hacker brought this up in a meeting between herself, her bosses, and Yoshi (who was in attendance as a 'Hanzo expert'). Her bosses had been quick to throw up arms, to declare their plan ruined. It was Yoshi who said that this made their job easier than ever.

  
They had met in one of the conference rooms in the facility they had above ground in Rome. From the windows that lined the wall they were given the perfect view of the city which boasted a wonderful blend of ancient stone and modern chrome and glass. The world outside showed a bright blue sky and birds gliding from building to building--a world of peace that contradicted starkly with the dark ideas manifesting in the conference room. Yoshi, in his typical white suit, tied back blonde hair, and icy smile had gotten to his feet and stood before Sombra and the bosses that day, and spoken the final nails on the coffin of Shimada Hanzo.

  
"If," he began, "Hanzo is anything like when we were young, he will be easy to manipulate, now so more than ever."

  
Cries of 'how' had erupted in the room, causing the man to silence them with a hand.

  
He strolled down the length of windows as he monologued. "In our youth Hanzo was taught that he must act a certain way in order to appease his elders and to look like a true heir to his father's empire. He was met with strictness at every turn and as a result lived his life by a strict set of guidelines. Any time that he had to venture outside what he knew was acceptable, he cracked like an egg." Cold eyes scanned the room, and Sombra felt herself recoil a little. She may have joined Talon for selfish reasons, but there was something wrong with this man. He continued, "He knew only listening to his elders, and he had a constant need for praise--in all aspects of his life, both private and public. But he does not trust people. He fears them."

  
Yoshi strolled back up to where a projector had shown a picture of Jesse with his arm around the archer. Jesse was grinning broadly with his free hand wrapped around a bottle of alcohol, while the archer was side eyeing him cautiously. It had been taken months ago, but it showed a wall between them--albeit a crumbling one. "He's slow to trust. He has been hurt by those he trusted and considered allies--myself included no doubt. And more so, he believed with all his soul that he had killed his brother...only to find out that he has been alive for the past decade. How that must have skewed everything he thought he knew!"

  
A mumble of agreement had went up around the room as people started catching on. Sombra had watched Reaper, who was across the table from her, narrow his eyes with distaste. People liked to paint the man as the monster, given what his powers were, but in comparison to the devilish interest flashing in Doctor O'Deorain's eyes? Gabriel Reyes looked like an empathic saint.

  
Yoshi tapped that the projection of the picture. "He is beginning to trust this...cowboy, and hearing about how charismatic and outgoing the man is, I would not doubt if Hanzo is beginning to feel for him." The sentence was spit out with a surprising amount of jealousy for a man that Sombra learned had been the one to leave Hanzo, and not the other way around. "If we wait, they will become closer. But that doubt will still be there, mark my words. All it would take would be to present the cowboy with something dark about Hanzo...a lie pointing towards Hanzo having not been upfront about something...and for the cowboy to turn on Hanzo...and we would have him. The archer would see the one person he was beginning to open up to has turned against him, and he would be vulnerable to our advances."

  
The meeting had left a sour taste in Sombra's mouth. She was not morally clean by any stretch of the imagination--she had allied herself with Talon so she could have information that would lead her to the top of world power. But there was something about laying there, waiting for a couple to get close and find happiness with the intent of breaking it apart with lies that seemed...awful to her. This was the kind of backstabbing girls had been rumored to do in high school...only on a grander scale. And true to Yoshi's predictions, as they began laying the red herrings to set up their scheme--one that led both the cowboy and archer to Hanamura--Talon saw how the two acted towards one another, including their relations inside the hotel room. Sombra felt like she was intruding when she hacked their coms and heard the sweet nothing murmured in the sheets.

  
But a job was a job.

  
And that was why, after weeks of work after the Hanamura mission that left Yoshi half blind and angry as hell, that Sombra had made a fake website. It made her skin crawl just thinking how much research and time she had put into forging all the videos of Hanzo (and god she hoped to never see a dick again in her life). She waited for Talon to let her know that Overwatch had taken their bait in Mexico and sent agents--and confirmed McCree was amongst them--and then she sent it. McCree's email had been a little difficult to track down, but her delay had actually meant the perfect timing for her bombshell link to her fake site to reach the cowboy.

  
The rest of the mission went smoothly for Talon. Yoshi was right in all that he said. McCree had acted angrily at the links to Hanzo's "cheating" and had confronted him--in front of teammates no less. And Hanzo had all but broken as he saw the one man he trusted and had shown him love turn against him. Talon delighted in the phone call from Akande reporting that he was "returning home with a friend". It filled Sombra with a sick feeling in her stomach. When Hanzo finally arrived at their Roman HQ after a long drive, he looked like a shell of the archer she had seen in vids and pictured in battle. And it rested on her thin shoulders that it was all her fault. She had done the research, she had helped in the planning of his downfall. And for what? To get a dragon on their side. Then to watch him lose himself in brainwashing like they had done to Widowmaker...? She tried to not lose much sleep over it, after all, this was the job she chose, but it didn't mean what she saw didn't bother her.

  
And now...

  
She had heard the yelling from down the hall. It was late and she had been combing over details from cameras in their disastrous time in Eichenwalde. Explosions had wrecked a good portion of the town, and with the explosions being so devastating the government was swooping down to investigate the cries of terrorism. This was not the kind of thing Talon had been trying for, and the brass were furious. Who was it that let the idiot pull the trigger on the explosives?

  
The noise from down the hall had been loud enough to mingle in with and disrupt the music she had playing in her room, enough that she paused it and had poked her head outside. The yelling was angrily, masculine, and was that--

  
Moira?

  
The laugh that cut above the constant enraged yelling was definitely the doctor. Sombra left her room--barefoot and in her PJs--and made her way down the length of the hallway to where Moira had her lab. The doors hissed open and--

  
It took a moment to process what she saw. It was Reyes, taller than normal, from his hips down a shadowy wraith, holding Moira by the collar of her lab coat several feet off the floor. Darkness rolled off the man in angry waves, his eyes glowing red the way they do when he was enraged as Reaper. Sombra rarely saw the mix of Gabe and Reaper--typically he was one or the other. Moira however was not bothered in the least by his form, nor by his angry screams that seemed almost beastly. She was laughing. Head thrown back, laughing as her nails held onto Gabe's fleshy arms.

  
"HOW DARE YOU--"

  
Sombra was standing in the doorway debating about interfering when she saw him. Laying on a bed that Moira must have wheeled in was none other than Hanzo. But what was he doing there? Last Sombra had heard he was in the medical bay--

  
She had just been about to call out when she saw the darkness coiling around the archer. Like a boa constrictor, it coiled down his body, smoky in its appearance as it trailed down before falling off the table and dissipating. Her eyes widened. He was like Reaper. That was the darkness that made Reaper what he was. Her eyes darted from Gabe to Hanzo, shocked. That wasn't part of the plan. The plan had been to get him on their side and to use the indestructible dragons to their advantage. And yet--

  
"Moira, what did you do!?" she gasped aloud.

  
Gabe's reaction and yelling explained it all, and if that didn't concreate it for Sombra, the empty glass tube in the group of those filled with Reaper's blood sure did. Moira had deviated from the plan and had injected Reaper's blood into Hanzo. That concoction she had been working on since her prototype during her Blackwatch years. She had made a Reaper V2 using the archer.

  
Sombra realized very sudden and very soberly that this had been Moira's plan all along. Perhaps at one point having a dragon to poke and prod at had interested the doctor, but now she had her own experiment to run. How long had Moira been planning this? Had it been since the beginning? How had she fooled them for so long? Sombra stumbled back out of the doorway, hand to her mouth as she was hit with the scent of decay--something that followed Gabe when he let his powers run free. But was it Gabe? Or was it Hanzo that reeked of death?

  
Hanzo would never be the same, and Sombra knew this. This was all her fault. She had never meant to truly alter the man--she had been told there was no need. It was a simple "get him to our side" mission. And dear god how they had succeeded. She had never meant for him to get hurt--not like Moira had irreversibly hurt Gabe.

  
It was all her fault.


	19. Whiskey Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. Look, a wild upload. Sorry it's taking so long. I just haven't been feeling all that great lately. Got a lot going on that's really bringing me down--mainly work related. 
> 
> I've also noticed there seems to be less going on in the Overwatch fandom recently. It's a lot less active, and a lot of negativity overall regarding characters and changes to the game. There seems to also be generally less feedback/hits on my fics as well, and it's kind of a bummer. I don't know if people are just tired of waiting for uploads, or if the OW fandom is really on its last leg like many say it is. 
> 
> Regardless, I do plan to finish this fic, hopefully, sooner rather than later, and I'm happy that there are some of you that have stuck with me until now. Comments and kudos are appreciated. :)

  _"Your job will be simple."_

  
It had been nine months since the Eichenwalde incident as it was being called. Hanzo had been robbed of most of his memories, leaving holes that spanned for years in his mind. Dreams and visions from the past would come in flashes during the day and nightmares behind his eyes while he slept. Sometimes it was merely a feeling--warm sun on his arms and waves lapping at his feet, while other times it was small scenes unfolding--Jesse pressing behind him, hands hovering over his that was cradling a pool cue. Often these brief glimpses to what appeared to be memories only confused Hanzo more than it helped him, with the visions too sporadic in when they came and what they showed, too much like a bunch of puzzle pieces in a box. He knew his mind was swiss cheese and whether he could restore those lost memories was something he didn't know the answer to. But he did know one thing...

  
Yoshi loomed behind him then, practically leering at him in the reflection of the mirror before them as his fingers ran over the black fabric of the kyudo-gi Hanzo was wearing. Hanzo stood straight, shoulders square, militant like Talon had taught him. His undercut had been maintained with the shaved parts kept close to his head while the long black hair was kept up in a ponytail that just swept the lower parts of his shoulder blades. He felt like it had been shorter not too long ago, but the experiments and healing processes Moira had been using on him had messed with his healing rate--sometimes wounds would heal nearly instantly, other times the smallest cut seemed to bleed for hours. 'I'll figure it out,' Moira had assured him, although he had little confidence that she would. Surely his comfort was somewhere near the bottom of her list of importance if it was on it at all. The once bright gold eyes that peered back at him in the mirror were now darker and rimmed with a dark red--something he noticed he shared in common with Reaper. And of course, Moira's other gift--the shiny black legs that extended from his scarred knees downward. They looked sharp yet sleek, matching the Talon theme of the rest of his provided outfits. He hated them. They did the job of allowing him to walk, climb, and move with a surprising amount of stealth for metal objects, but he was still understandably bitter that he had been robbed of his organic legs at all. He only kept them on during waking hours, opting to leave them off while he slept as to not tear up the mattress. But what came with hooking up and disconnecting the nerve ending wires around where his knees once where was nothing but sharp pain, followed by ghost pain when they were off. He could still feel where his legs had once been, and the muscle memory of moving them to shift around, to stand, to kick was so vivid that it still startled him months later when he would go to stand and there would be no legs to lift him.

  
Those fingers of Yoshi's that had been trailing over the silky fabric near his shoulders waltzed up the sensitive flesh of his neck, going upwards until they began fiddling with the metal piercings that lined his ears. Every fiber in Hanzo's being wanted to slap away the hand and go violent violent violent. But he refrained. _"You will accompany the squad to the bunker out in the wastes near St. Petersburg."_

  
Golden eyes stared back at Yoshi unflinchingly. He had never been to Russia--unless it was one of the forgotten memories. But he had heard tales of the devastation done to the land and its people during the Omnic War. Entire cities had been leveled and in the time spanning until the present day--much like Eichenwalde--nature had begun to reclaim what the humans no longer could inhabit. St. Petersburg was isolated from other cities by rolling hills and plains packed with snow this time of year. The land was said to be inhospitable now so more than ever between the mines that lay under the snow, the below freezing temperatures, and the deep scars that marked the land which made vehicle travel a hassle. However, Talon was interested in an old pre-war bunker that was out in the middle of the barren land, which was rumored to hold old Russian secret devices inside. That sort of gear--that could withstand the Russian cold--could prove useful in the future. But Hanzo knew what this meant for him to go.

  
 _"Of course we'll be monitoring you,"_ Yoshi said. But all Hanzo could hear was that he was being tested. This would be his first mission outside of Italy in almost a year following the loss of his legs. All the training and rehabilitation had been positive, but the cold climate and risk of running into hostiles would surely test whether his legs were up to the challenge. And then, of course, there were his new powers... _"But I was assured that it would be a quick infiltration and a quick exit. You'll have a team with you, of course, looking out for you."_

  
 _"You're too kind,"_ Hanzo said dryly. Babysitters were all that they would be.

  
Yoshi smiled at him over his shoulder. Hanzo's skin prickled when the man pressed up behind him, winding his arms around Hanzo's slender hips. He spoke with his lips ghosting over the shell of the archer's ear, eye still glued to Hanzo using the mirror. _"I'll be there too my sweet. I want to make sure you're safe. Can't have you taking anymore falls now, can we?"_

  
Hanzo stared right back, his facade a mask of dead unfeeling to throw the man off from the actual storm brewing in his dark filled chest. _"Surely not. I cannot stomach the idea of the good doctor taking more of my limbs from me."_ His keeper huffed a short laugh. _"When do I depart?"_  
 _"This afternoon." I_ f the suddenness of the mission unsettled Hanzo he made no outward sign _. "Your things are in the process of being packed as we speak. You just need to check up with Moira_ before hand _so she can ensure you're in top condition--"_

  
"Sorry to break this up--" A sudden voice from the doorway startled Yoshi, making him physically jump and step away from Hanzo. It wasn't often that Sombra or her voice brought Hanzo any emotion other than bitterness, but this day it drew from him a sigh of relief. The younger woman was standing with her one shoulder resting on the frame of the door, her arms crossed over her chest. How long she had been there watching Yoshi touch the archer was anyone's guess. Her eyes appeared accessing as they waltzed up the pair but held something in them that made Hanzo pause. For some reason, the look in her eyes appeared...nervous almost. _What are you plotting, Hacker?_ he found himself wondering. "That 'good doctor' demands you both. Now."

  
But Yoshi's comment finally clicked in Hanzo's head. Top condition? "Are we to expect hostiles?"

  
To the archer's relief, Yoshi stepped back a little. The man's unnerving smile lingered as he walked backward Sombra who was slow to move out of the way. "No. It should be a cake walk. Moira just wants to get baselines for you for some after the fact testing. We have been informed by our lovely Sombra that Overwatch is none the wiser of our plans."

  
If it wasn't for Sombra glancing away at those words, Hanzo might have believed him.

 

* * *

  
The ping was borderline deafening in the silence of the night. Jesse's phone, which was laying on his bedside had all but screamed that he had a new email, and now the phone's blue glow lit up the otherwise dark room. It was 2 am at Watchpoint Gibraltar, and the base was silent as the agents that were one base were fast asleep in their own rooms. All but one.

  
Jesse's sleeping patterns had been thrown out the window many months before. Sometimes he could sleep for what seemed like days at a time, where people would have to ask Athena if Jesse was still in his room. Other times proved just the opposite where the cowboy couldn't get shut-eye if his life had depended on it. What was the point? Of course, when he was given notice he was being deployed on a mission he would try his best to rest up--if he wasn't rested he could make mistakes that endangered his teammates, and he couldn't abide by that. But on his off time? He was either hitting the gym or the gun range or sleeping. Anything to occupy his time where he wasn't utterly alone with his thoughts. There was something almost therapeutic about the bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang of his revolver, and then the metallic clinking of reloading the six bullets, and then there was the runner's high that came with jogging around their base in the earliest hours of the dawn. But the idle time...

  
The bottle of whiskey felt good in the loose grip of his hand, dangling over the side of the dirty white folding chair out on the patio of the backside of the barracks. In the times of Overwatch, the agents would sit in the chairs underneath the porch overhang and read and chat while trying to enjoy their time off. Now McCree found it a nice secluded spot to drink in the cool air of the impending winter. Whiskey had always been his poison of choice, even when he was down on his luck before Reyes picked him up, and the time after Reyes was gone. Jesse McCree always had enough money to buy himself a bottle of whiskey, even if it wasn't top shelf. Nowadays wasn't so different. His bottles never seemed to last, but at least he had a semi-steady job; the money he got from doing Overwatch assignments always was enough to buy another bottle week after week.

  
With the bottle pressed to his lips--a glass for such drinks long past forsaken--he scowled into the night towards the moonlit ocean. Angela has begun nagging him recently about "liver damage" this, and "not healthy coping" that. But what was a man supposed to do when the love of his life was dead and it was all his fault? He dreaded the downtime between missions because, despite having this family that cared for him, aside from Genji none of them were grieving like he was. He hadn't touched Hanzo's things since the man fled from him. Their room was as much of a museum of what had been as well as a shrine to their once blooming love. Like a ritual, Jesse would dust over all of Hanzo's things with a delicate touch, occasionally spray his cologne on their pillows...But Hanzo's true scent had all but left the place. Even if his things were there, his presence was gone. All Jesse had of him were memories. He would never hear his voice echoing from the shower to call for him, to smell his incenses he burned for meditation, or see that shy smile that was once only reserved for him.

  
Genji had taken it hard too, although not entirely convinced that Hanzo was gone. He threw himself at every mission Winston would sign him onto, hoping for a glimpse or whisper of where Talon had his brother. He even left with Zenyatta for a time right after Eichenwalde to visit the monastery in Tibet. He had come back hardly different than before. It had been nine months and yet the ninja still held out hope. 'If the spirit dragon is here, it means he yet lives!' was his favorite argument. Jesse could only snap back 'Then where is the second, and why is this one here?' Yet Genji still held out for his brother. Part of Jesse was thankful for the optimism, and yet...he wished he wasn't so alone in his grieving. But what other option was there? They hadn't seen him since Eichenwalde. They had found his ribbon left behind. Hanzo was dead. And--

  
The whiskey had lost its burn. The amber liquid swished around in its glass bottle as Jesse swung it up to his lips again to take a long gulp. Many nights were spent like this. He longed for the sweet kisses of his lover, or perhaps something colder and more permanent, but the kiss of the bottle would have to get him through the night.

  
A chirp came from beside the chair. Without looking Jesse dipped his metal arm over the side, and quick as a flash a blue dragon was climbing up his arm. Its sharp claws clung to the metal for leverage, wiggling its way up before launching itself onto Jesse's chest. Its ears flicked and it chirped happily--probably happy that Jesse had noticed him and helped him up.

  
"Why ain't y' asleep?" Jesse inquired. He swapped the bottle to his metal one and used his right hand to soothe down the beast's back. The spirit dragon nuzzled against his chin, sighing at the touch accompanied by soft little huffing noises--almost like Hanzo would do during a good back rub. Another gulp sent that memory back down into a closed box where it belonged.

  
The little blue lizard kept snuggled close, enjoying the pats. Even after nine months Jesse still was no expert on the spirit dragon. It kept solid for the most part, colored equal parts electric blue and sapphire blue, with black bead-like eyes. Its size varied between that of a ferret and that of a small cat. The cowboy had never seen it do anything magical, in fact, aside from the glow it had in the dark, it could almost pass as a foreign type of lizard. It drank from a bowl Jesse had set up on the table in the apartment (it refused to drink out of a cat bowl on the floor), and it liked to eat whatever Jesse had on his plate, although it had a fondness for sweet fruits like peaches and pineapple. Genji assured him that the spirit dragons didn't need to eat, but Jesse didn't mind sharing a hunk or two of food; he fancied it was the closest to owning a dog he might ever get while in Overwatch. The creature was skittish of people other than Genji and Jesse, usually going to hide whenever someone visited Jesse's room--with the sole exception of Reinhardt whom he seems oddly fascinated by. The first time Genji and Jesse saw the small dragon dart out from under the bed to greet the tank of a man, Genji had all but laughed; the spirit dragons reflected, or at the very least acknowledged Hanzo's feelings, so it was likely the dragon remembered Reinhardt as a friend (more so than the others). Needless to say, this had the German man bawling like a teen as he cradled the dragon in his arms like an infant.

  
The spirit dragon, whom Jesse dubbed Peaches ("It's not like it can tell me its name, and Han ain't around t' correct me. And it likes peaches.") was very much the reason Jesse got out of bed each morning. Peaches had a small cat bed beside the master bed--although most nights it was crawling up the sheets to snuggle with Jesse. It would chirp, hum, and squeak at Jesse in the mornings in place of an alarm clock, and nip at him if he fell back asleep. The dragon would soak in the plugged up sink in the bathroom while Jesse showered, then enjoy the blow dryer humming down it's back when Jesse dried his own hair. For meals it would sit either on the chair beside Jesse or up on the table with a small saucer or bowl with some bits of food on it--but it more often than not it resorted to begging for scraps off of Jesse's plate. It didn't wander out with Jesse typically outside of the room, which made Jesse wonder why--and how--if found him drinking on the patio.

  
"Yer supposed t' be asleep Peaches," he grumbled. The dragon butted its forehead against Jesse's jaw in response. "Y'kno, yer just as big of a mystery as Han was," Jesse sighed. He sat up with a bit of a wobble, causing Peaches to dig its nails into the fabric of Jesse's serape. With a couple wiggles and missteps, the dragon was perched on Jesse's shoulders, tail coiled loosely around his neck like a scarf. Jesse stumbled as he tried to get up all the way. The bottle of whiskey was mostly empty as it hung loosely in his grasp, and his burps certainly tasted like the burning amber liquid. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could have sworn Peaches signed. "Hey, I don't need any of yer sass," he slurred. "Y' can be disappointed all y' damn well please, but it ain't changin' nothin'." Then with a sigh, he patted the beast. "Let's get t' bed."

  
Drunkenly the cowboy staggered back inside the build, entering into a hallway lit only by an emergency light overhead before opening up into a larger room. His spurs echoed down the silent hallway as he stumbled towards the elevators in the main room. Jesse had to stop several times to lean against the wall, having to press and hand to his mouth to stifle his burps and the threat of vomit. All the while Peaches was poking and prodding at his neck and tugging oddly at his serape. "What do y' want? Yer actin' all clingy..."

  
Jesse hated coming into the lobby area and waiting for the elevators. It wasn't a bad spot by any means--it was always lit, always clean. But it was the place of his biggest mistake. Even after so long he walked by the place where he had all but choked out Hanzo in his fit of rage he would hasten his steps as he felt the anxiety washing over him. He always pressed the call button for the elevator multiple times. He didn't care if it didn't bring the elevator car to him any quicker, but it sure felt like it did. With a ding the doors slid open in front of him, allowing him into the soft white glow of the lights. As the doors slid shut after Jesse was inside, his drunken mind began its usual parade of thoughts. 'Remember all the times you stopped the elevator so the two of you could make out?' 'Remember that one time you both were so drunk that you started to have sex in here and Ana came over the com to yell at you?' There were plenty of times that they helped one another carry bags and gear up the elevator, and sometimes even one another after a long hard mission. Now as Jesse stared back at his reflection in the shiny sides of the elevator, he wondered what it would take to correct all of his mistakes. He could only imagine the toll he would have to pay to get through the pearly gates when his time came. Or would the weight of his sins and all his bad judgment pull him down? Would he even be surprised?

  
The elevator pinged and with unsteady steps he wandered down the hallway. Jesse could hold his liquor--he wasn't a lightweight by any means--but even so, the amount he had drunk had him unsteady on his feet and bumping into the walls as he made his way towards his room. Poor Peaches hung on with its claw onto his serape as he wobbled about. He got to his room and stared at the keypad with some difficulty; everything was blurry, and damn, what was the code again?

  
"Athena--" he called out with a slur, "Can y' open up fer me doll? It's Jesse--"

  
_"I realize it is you, Agent McCree. Shall I inform Doctor Ziegler or Doctor Amari of your current status? Perhaps they can--"_

  
The door hissed open, nearly sending the drunken man on his face. The interior lights flicked on after a moment, and only after the drunk gave a hiss of displeasure was Athena kind enough to dim them. "Naw, don't--" He hiccuped hard enough to send Peaches sprawling onto the floor. The creature hissed angrily at him before skittering off towards the bed. "I'll sleep it off."

  
_"Very well. You are expected at training at--"_

  
Jesse didn't make it to his bed. The alcohol was hitting him hard. He sat down on the middle of the floor and began combing his cold metal hand through his hair and along his cheeks in an attempt to cool down the alcohol flush. He waved his other hand at the empty air--as if Athena was there physically. "I know, I know. Winston will bitch me out if I don't show."

  
There was a pregnant silence before Athena merely said, _"Have a good night Cowboy."_ It was in that same almost teasing tone that she used when he was getting in trouble with Genji during their Blackwatch years.

  
Suddenly very tired and fairly dizzy, Jesse flopped back against the floor to stare up at the white ceiling. The room was shifting slightly in his vision, just short of spinning. "Ugh.." and it was starting to make him feel ill. He wasn't in his twenties anymore. Maybe the alcohol was getting to be too much for his old blood.

  
He shut his eyes to collect himself, but he felt as if no sooner had he closed them was a weight slamming into his chest. "Oof!" he huffed as he sat up. From his chest, Peaches and his phone tumbled into his lap. The dragon made a noise akin to a quack as he slid, only to be lifted by his scruff by Jesse. "Peaches--what the ever lovin'--"

  
His phone that had slid to the floor stared up at him, the screen lit up, revealing the background he had--a picture of Hanzo curled up next to him in bed--and an unopened message. Peaches nipped at his finger so Jesse would release him, and the moment he did Peaches was scampering up his arm and resting across his shoulders as if it were about to read the text too. Jesse sighed. Who was messaging him this late at night?

  
_Sender: Unknown_

  
Even drunk this made Jesse's brow rise. An unknown number? That was sketchy, especially since this was technically an Overwatch phone that had pretty tight security. Winston and Athena had gone through every agent's electronic devices following the incident between Hanzo and Jesse and had put stricter security in place. The fact that this message was unopened and yet still staring up from the screen made Jesse uneasy. He imputed his code to unlock his phone. He took in the wallpaper of Hanzo smiling at him from their sofa (a candid shot from the day of his proposal) before clicking on the envelope.

  
His brows drew together in confusion as he read the message. Again and again, he read it and yet...

  
Who sent this?

  
_Dragon in St.Petersburg._

  
The words stared back up at him like a haunting call. St. Petersburg...that was the city with the large factories owned by Volskya that produced Russia's mechs. The city was known to be cold and nearly impregnable due to its security, and the scars just on its borders from the Omnic War. But while they were known around the world for their mechs, they were not the type to have dra--

  
McCree's train of thought crashed.

  
_Dragon._

  
_Dragon._

  
Peaches pawed at him eagerly, almost as if to say 'Go Go!'

  
Jesse gave a wet burp before stumbling to his feet. He felt like shit. Definitely drank far too much. His steps were uncoordinated as he stumbled for the door, clutching his phone in his flesh hand like a lifeline. He could ponder the sender of the text later, especially when another message came through, this time a picture of a familiar face scowling into a mirror.

  
"Genji! Genji--"

  
Nearly the entire base was awake by the time the cowboy made it to the cyborg's room, awakened by his calls and cries. When Genji opened the door, Jesse all but fell into him, clinging to his metal frame and shoving the phone at him. "He's alive--Gen, he's alive--"

 

 

 

 


End file.
